Edited  with  a  Preface  by 

3To$epf)  letote  Jfrencft 


Stories,1" 
"Masterpieces  of  Mystery"  etc. 


Introduction  by 

Borotfjp  ^carborouglj 

Lecturer  in  English,  Columbia  University 

Author  of  "The  Supernatural  in  English  Literature," 

"From  a  Southern  Porch,"  etc. 


MJSL 


''. 


Copprigfjt,  1920,  bp 
&  fctoerifffrt,  Jnt. 


|)rinteb  in  tfje  ftniteb 


PEEPAOE 

THE  case  for  the  "psychic"  element  in  literature 
rests  on  a  very  old  foundation;  it  reaches  back 
to  the  ancient  masters, — the  men  who1  wrote  the 
Greek  tragedies.  Remorse  will  ever  seem  commonplace 
alongside  the  furies.  Ever  and  always  the  shadow  of 
the  supernatural  invites,  pursues  us.  As  the  art  of  lit- 
erature has  progressed  it  has  grown  along  with  it 
To-day  there  is  a  whole  new  school  of  writers  of  Ghost- 
Stories,  and  the  domain  of  the  invisible  is  being  invaded 
by  explorers  in  many  paths.  We  do  not  believe  so  much 
more,  perhaps,  that  is,  we  do  not  so  openly  express  a 
belief,  but  art  has  finally  and  frankly  claimed  the  super- 
natural for  its  own.  One  discerning  authority  even  goes 
so  far  as  to  assert  that  the  borders  of  its  domain  will  be 
greatly  enlarged  in  the  wonderful  new  field  of  the 
screen. 

There  is  no  motive  in  a  story,  no  image  in  poetry,  that 
can  give  us  quite  the  thrill  of  a  supernatural  idea.  If 
we  were  formally  charged  with  this  we  might  resent 
the  imputation,  but  the  evidence  has  persisted  from  the 
beginning,  lives  on  every  hand,  and  multiplies  daily. 
What  we  have  been  in  the  habit  of  calling  the  "ma- 
chinery" of  the  old  Greek  drama — its  supernatural  ef- 
fects— has  come  finally  to  be  an  art  cultivated  with  care 
at  the  present  hour,  and  has  given  us  some  wonderful 
new  writers.  In  fact,  few  of  the  best  masters  for  a 
generation  now  have  been  able  to  resist  its  persistent 


VI 


PREFACE 


and  abiding  charm.  Every  writer  of  true  imagination, 
almost  without  exception,  including  even  certain  real- 
ists, has  given  us  at  least  one  story,  long  or  short,  in 
which  the  central  motive  is  purely  psychical  in  the 
Greek  sense  of  the  word. 

The  whole  subject  opens  up  a  virgin  field  which  has 
after  all  only  begun  to  be  tilled.  Within  the  coming 
generation  we  may  look  for  great  artists  to  devote  their 
whole  powers  to  it,  as  Algernon  Blackwood  is  doing 
to-day.  A  simple  underlying  reason  is  enough  to  account 
for  it  all — the  new  field  imposes  simply  no  limit  on  the 
imagination.  In  addition  to  all  that  science  has  taught 
us,  there  is  illimitable  store  of  myth  and  legend  to  aid, 
to  draw  from,  to  work  in,  to  work  over,  as  Lord  Dun- 
sany  has  shown  us.  It  is  the  most  significant  movement 
in  literature  at  the  present  hour,  and  whether  it  is  sup- 
ported by  a  special  background  of  interest — as  at  pres- 
ent in  spiritism — or  not,  the  assertion  is  logical  that  it 
is  creating  a  new  body  of  fictional  literature  of  perma- 
nent importance  for  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  lit- 
erature. The  human  comedy  seems  to  have  been  ex- 
ploited to  its  final  limits;  as  the  art  of  the  novel,  the 
art  of  the  stage,  but  too  sadly  prove  to-day.  We  have 
turned  outward  for  new  thrills  to  the  supernatural  and 
we  are  getting  them. 

It  only  remains  to  be  added  that  the  present  great 
interest  in  spiritualism  and  allied  phenomena  has  made 
necessary  the  addition  of  certain  material  of  a  ' '  literal ' y 
character  which  we  believe  will  be  found  quite  as  inter- 
esting by  the  general  reader  as  the  purely  literary  por- 
tion of  the  book. 

JOSEPH  LEWIS  FRENCH 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PREFACE Joseph  Lewis  French     .  v 

INTRODUCTION Dorothy  Scarborough      .  ix 

WHEN  THE  WORLD  WAS  YOUNG  Jack  London      ...  1 

THE  RETURN Algernon  Blackwood      .  24 

THE  SECOND  GENERATION  .     .  Algernon  Blackwood      .  ^j'31 

JOSEPH — A  STORY     ....  Katherine  Rickford  .     .  41 

THE  CLAVECIN — BRUGES     .     .  George  Wharton  Edwards  54 

LIGEIA Edgar  Allan  Poe      .     .  61 

THE  SYLPH  AND  THE   FATHER  Elsa  Barker  ....  83 

A  GHOST Lafcadio  Hearn  ...  88 

THE  EYES  OP  THE  PANTHER   .  Ambrose  Bierce  ...  95 
PHOTOGRAPHING  INVISIBLE  BE- 
INGS    William  T.  Stead      .     .109 

THE  SIN-EATER Fiona  Macleod   .     .     .  126 

GHOSTS  IN  SOLID  FORM      .     .  Gambier  Bolton  .     .     .  162 
THE  PHANTOM  ARMIES  SEEN  IN 

FRANCE Hereward  Carrington     .  188 

THE  PORTAL  OF  THE  UNKNOWN  .  Andrew  Jackson  Davis  .  195 
THE    SUPERNORMAL:    EXPERI- 
ENCES       St.  John  D.Seymour      .  202 

NATURE-SPIRITS,    OR   ELEMEN- 

TALS Nizida 218 

A  WITCH'S  DEN Helena  Blavatsky     .     .  258 

SOME     REMARKABLE     EXPERI- 
ENCES OF   FAMOUS  PERSONS  Dr.  Walter  F.  Prince  280 


vii 


INTRODUCTION 

THE  PSYCHIC  IN  LITERATURE 

WAR,  that  relentless  disturber  of  boundaries  and 
of  traditions  in  a  spiritual  as  well  as  a  material 
sense,  has  brought  a  tremendous  revival  of  in- 
terest in  the  life  after  death  and  the  possibility  of  com- 
munication between  the  living  and  the  dead.  As  France 
became  nearer  to  millions  over  here  because  our  sol- 
diers lived  there  for  a  few  months,  as  French  soil  will 
forever  be  holy  ground  because  our  dead  rest  there,  so 
the  far  country  of  the  soul  likewise  seems  nearer  be- 
cause of  those  young  adventurers.  The  conflict  which 
changed  the  map  of  Europe  has  in  the  minds  of  many 
effaced  the  boundaries  between  this  world  and  the  world 
beyond.  Winifred  Kirkland,  in  her  book,  The,  New 
Death,  discusses  the  new  concept  of  death,  and  the 
change  in  our  standards  that  it  is  making.  "We  are 
used  to  speaking  of  this  or  that  friend's  philosophy  of 
life;  the  time  has  now  come  when  every/  one  of  us  who 
is  to  live  at  peace  with  his  own  brain  must  possess  also 
a  philosophy  of  death. "  This  New  Death,  she  says,  is 
so  far  mainly  an  immense  yearning  receptivity,  an  un- 
precedented humility  of  brain  and  of  heart  toward  all 
implications  of  survival.  She  believes  that  it  is  an  in- 
fluence which  is  entering  the  lives  of  the  people  as  a 
whole,  not  a  movement  of  the  intellectuals,  nor  the  re- 

ix 


y 


x  INTRODUCTION 

suit  of  psychical  research  propaganda,  but  arising  from 
the  simple,  elemental  emotions  of  the  soul,  from  human 
i  love  and  longing  for  reassurance  of  continued  life.  ^ 

"If  a  man  die,  shall  he  live  again?"  has  been  pro- 
pounded ever  since  Job's  agonized  inquiry..  Now  num- 
bers are  asking  in  addition,  "Can  we  have  communica- 
tion with  the  dead?"  Science,  long  derisive,  is  sympa- 
thetic to  the  questioning,  and  while  many  believe  and 
many  doubt,  the  subject  is  one  that  interests  more 
..people  than  ever  before.  Professor  James  Hyslop,  Sec- 
retary of  the  American  Society  for  Psychical  Research, 
believes  that  the  war  has  had  great  influence  in  arous- 
ing new  interest  in  psychical  subjects  and  that  tremen- 
dous spiritual  discoveries  may  come  from  it. 

Literature,  always  a  little  ahead  of  life,  or  at  least 
in-ac1  vance  of  general  thinking,  has  in  the  more  recent 
years  been  acutely  conscious  of  this  new  influence. 
Poetry,  the  drama,  the  novel,  the  short  story,  have  given 
affirmative  answer  to  the  question  of  the  soul's  survival 
after  death.  No  other  element  has  so  largely  entered 
into  the  tissue  of  recent  literature  as  has  the  supernat- 
ural, which  now  we  meet  in  all  forms  in  the  writings  of 
all  lands.  And  no  aspect  of  the  ghostly  art  is  more 
impressive  or  more  widely  used  than  the  introduction 
of  the  spirit  of  the  dead  seeking  to  manifest  itself  to 
the  living.  No  thoughtful  person  can  fail  to  be  inter- 
ested in  a  theme  which  has  so  affected  literature  as  has 
the  ghostly,  even  though  he  may  disbelieve  what  the 
Psychical  Researchers  hold  to  be  established. 

Man's  love  for  the  supernatural,  which  is  one  of  the 
most  natural  things  about  him,  was  never  more  marked 
than  now.  Man's  imagination,  ever  vaster  than  his 


THE  PSYCHIC  IN  LITERATUKE       xi 

environment,  overleaps  the  barriers  of  time  and  space 
and  claims  all  worlds  as  eminent  domain,  so  that  litera- 
ture, which  he  has  the  power  to  create,  as  he  cannot  cre- 
ate his  material  surroundings,  possesses  a  dramatic  in- 
tensity and  an -epic  sweep  unknown  in  actuality.  JJiteEr 
ature  shows  what  humanity  really  is  and  longs  to  be. 
Man,  feeling  belittled  by  his  petty  round  of  uninspir- 
ing days,  longs  for  a  larger  life.  He  yearns  for  traffic 
with  immortal  beings  that  can  augment  his  wisdom,  that 
can  bring  comfort  to  his  soul  dismayed  and  bewildered 
by  life.  He  reaches  out  for  a  power  beyond  his  puny 
strength.  Aware  how  relentlessly  time  ticks  away  his  lit- 
tle hour,  he  craves  companionship  with  the  eternal 
spirits.  Ignorant  of  what  lies  before  him  in  the  life 
to  which  he  speeds  so  fast,  he  would  take  counsel  of 
those  who  know,  would  ask  about  the  customs  oi  the 
country  where  presently  he  will  be  a  citizen.  He  feels 
so  terribly  alone  that  he  cries  out  like  a  child  in  the 
dark  for  supermortal  companionship. 

Literature,  which  is  both  a  cause  and  an  effect  of 
man's  interest  in  the  supernatural  as  in  anything  else, 
reflects  his  longings  and  records  his  cries.  And  when 
we  read  the  imaginings  of  the  different  generations,  we 
find  that  the  spirit  of  the  dead  is  represented  almost 
everywhere.  Before  poetry  and  fiction  were  recorded, 
there  were  singers  and  story-tellers  by  the  fire  to  give 
to  their  listeners  the  thrill  that  comes  from  art.  And 
what  thrill  is  comparable  to  that  which  comes  from  con- 
tact with  the  supermortal?  The  earliest  literature  re- 
lates the  appearance  of  the  spirits  of  those  who  have 
died  as  coming  back  to  comfort  or  to  take  vengeance  on 
the  living,  but  always  as)  sentient,  intelligent,  and  with 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

an  interest  in  the  earth  they  have  left.  All  through 
the  centuries  the  wraith  has  survived  in  literature,  has 
flitted  pallidly  across  the  pages  of  poetry,  story  and  play, 
with  a  sad  wistfulness,  a  forlorn  dignity. 

A  double  relation  exists  between  the  literature  and  the 
records  of  the  Psychical  Kesearch  Society.  Lacy  Col- 
lison-Morley,  in  his  Greek  and  Roman  Ghost  Stories, 
speaks  of  the  similarity  between  ancient  tales  of  spirits 
and  records  of  recent  instances.  "  There  are  in  the 
Fourth  Book  of  Gregory  the  Great's  Dialogues  a 
number  of  stories  of  the  passing  of  souls  which  are  curi- 
ously like  some  of  those  collected  by  the  Psychical  Re- 
search Society/'  he  says.  Possibly  human  personality 
is  much  the  same  in  all  lands  and  all  times. 

Conversely,  some  of  the  best  examples  of  ghostly  lit- 
erature have  had  their  inspiration  in  the  records  of  the 
society,  Henry  James's  The  Turn  of  the  Screw  being 
a  notable  example.  Algernon  Blackwood,  that  extraor- 
dinary adapter  of  psychic  material  to  fiction,  makes  fre- 
quent mention  of  the  Psychical  Research  Society,  and 
uses  many  aspects  of  the  psychical  in  his  fiction.  In- 
numerable stories,  novels,  plays  and  poems  have  been 
written  to  show  the  nearness  of  the  dead  to  the  living, 
and  the  thinness  of  the  veil  that  separates  the  two 
worlds.  There  is  deep  pathos  in  the  concept  of  the  long- 
ing felt  by  the  dead  and  living  alike  to  speak  with  each 
other,  to  rend  the  dividing  veil,  which  adds  a  poignancy 
to  literature,  even  for  readers  incredulous  of  the  pos- 
sibility of  such  communication.  There  are  many  who 
are  unconvinced  of  the  reality  of  the  messages  in  Ray- 
mond, for  instance, — yet  who  could  fail  to  be  touched 
by  the  delicate  art  with  which  Barrie  suggests  the  dead 


THE  PSYCHIC  IN  LITEEATUEE    xiii 

son's  return  in  his  play,  The  Well-Remembered 
Voice  ?  While  one  may  be  repelled  by  what  he  feels 
is  fraud  and  trickery  in  some  of  the  psychic  records,  it 
is  impossible  not  to  be  moved  by  such  an  impressive 
piece  of  symbolism  as  Granville  Barker 's  Souls  on 
Fifth,  where  the  lonely,  futile  spirits  of  the  dead  are 
represented  as  hovering  near  the  place  they  knew  the 
best,  seeking  piteously  to  win  some  recognition  from  the 
living.  The  repulsive  aspects  of  spirit  manifestations 
have  been  treated  many  times  and  with  power,  as  in 
Joseph  Hergesheimer 's  The  Meeker  Ritual,  to  give 
one  very  recent  example.  The  subject  has  interested  the 
minds  of  many  writers  who  have  dealt  with  it  satirically 
or  sympathetically,  or  with  a  curious  mixture  of  scoffing 
and  respect,  as  did  Browning  in  Sludge,  the  Medium. 
Even  such  pronounced  realists  as  William  Dean  Howells 
and  Hamlin  Garland  have  written  novels  dealing  with 
attempts  at  spirit  communication. 

Any  subject  that  has  won  so  incontestable  a  place  in 
our  literature  as  this  has,  possesses  a  right  to  our 
thought,  whatever  be  our  attitude  of  acceptance  or  re- 
jection of  its  claims  to  actuality.  No  person  wishes  to 
be  ignorant  of  what  the  world  is  thinking  with  reference 
to  a  matter  so  important  as  the  spirit.  Hence  this  vol- 
ume, The  Best  Psychic  Stories,  in  presenting  these 
studies  in  the  occult,  will  have  interest  for  a  wide  range 
of  readers,  and  Mr.  French,  the  editor,  has  shown  criti- 
cal discrimination  and  extensive  knowledge  of  the  sub- 
ject. Many  who  are  already  interested  in  psychic)  phe- 
nomena will  be  glad  to  be  informed  concerning  recent 
and  startling  manifestations  recounted  by  special  in- 
vestigators. The  sincerity  of  a  man  like  W.  T.  Stead, 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 

well  known  and  respected  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic, 
cannot  be  doubted,  so  that  his  article  on  Photograph- 
ing Invisible  Beings  will  have  unusual  weight.  Here- 
ward  Carrington,  author  of  various  books  on  psychic 
subjects,  and  considered  an  authority  in  his  field,  gives 
in  The  Phantom  Armies  Seen  in  France  a  report  of 
occult  phenomena  widely  believed  in  during  the  war. 

Helena'  Blavatsky,  author  of  A  Witch's  Den,  will 
be  remembered  as  the  sensational  medium  who  mysti- 
fied experimenters  in  various  lands  a  few  years  ago. 
While  most  of  us  can  be  content  not  to  touch  a  ghost, 
we  may  find  subject  for  surprise  and  wonder  in  Gam- 
bier  Bolton's  Ghosts  in  Solid  Form,  describing  spir- 
its that  can  be  weighed  and  put  to  material  tests,  while 
Dr.  Walter  H.  Prince,  well  known  as  a  psychic  investi- 
gator, relates  remarkable  experiments  of  famous  per- 
sons, that  challenge  explanation  on  purely  physical 
bases.  These  accounts  show  that  modern  scientific  in- 
vestigation of  spiritual  manifestations  can  be  made  as 
enthralling  as  fiction  or  drama.  Hamlin  Garland  re- 
marks in  a  recent  article,  The  Spirit-World  on  Trial, 
"When  the  medium  consented  to  enter  the  laboratory 
of  the  physicist,  a  new  era  in  the  study  of  psychic  phe- 
nomena began. " 

Even  those  who  refuse  credence  to  spirit  manifesta- 
tions in  fact,  but  who  appreciate  the  art  with  which 
they  are  shown  in  literature,  should  read  with  interest 
the  stories  given  here.  The  genius  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe 
was  never  more  impressive  than  in  his  studies  of  the 
supernatural,  and  Ligeia  has  a  dramatic  art  unsur- 
passed even  by  Poe.  The  tense  economy  with  which  Am- 
brose Bierce  could  evoke  a  dreadful  spirit  is  evident 


THE  PSYCHIC  IN  LITERATURE      xv 

in  The  Eyes  of  the  Panther,  and  the  haunting  sym- 
bolism of  Fiona  Macleod's  The  Sin-Eater^  is  unfor- 
getable.  Lafcadio  Hearn,  author  of  A  Ghost,  held  the 
belief  that  there  was  no  great  artist  in  any  land,  and 
certainly  no  Anglo-Saxon  writer,  who  had  not  distin- 
guished himself  in  his  use  of  the  supernatural.  (  The 
subject  of  the  soul's  survival  after  death  and  its  at- 
tempts to  reveal  itself  to  those  still  in  the  folding  flesh 
is  of  interest  to  every  rational  person,  whether  as  a  mat- 
ter of  scientific  concern  or  merely  as  an  aspect  of  liter- 
ary art.)  And  the  possibilities  for  further  use  of  the 
psychic  in  literature  are  as  alluring  as  they  are  illimit- 

DOEOTHY  SCARBOROUGH 
New  York  City 
March  29, 1920 


Stye  Pe*t  $0pcfnc  Stories! 


THE  BEST  PSYCHIC 
STORIES 

WHEN  THE  WORLD  WAS  YOUNG* 
BY  JACK  LONDON 


HE  was  a  very  quiet,  self-possessed  sort  of  man, 
sitting  a  moment  on  top  of  the  wall  to  sound 
the  damp  darkness  for  warnings  of  the  dangers 
it  might   conceal.     But  the   plummet  of  his   hearing 
brought   nothing   to   him   save   the   moaning   of   wind 
through  invisible  trees  and  the  rustling  of  leaves  on 
swaying  branches.    A  heavy  fog  drifted  and  drove  be- 
fore the  wind,  and  though  he  could  not  see  this  fog,  the 
wet  of  it  blew  upon  his  face,  and  the  wall  on  which  he 
sat  was  wet. 

Without  noise  he  had  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  wall 
from  the  outside,  and  without  noise  he  dropped  to  the 
ground  on  the  inside.  From  his  pocket  he  drew  an  elec- 
tric night-stick,  but  he  did  not  use  it.  Dark  as  the 
way  was,  he  was  not  anxious  for  light.  Carrying  the 
night-stick  in  his  hand,  his  finger  on  the  button,  he 

*  By  permission  of  The  Century  Co. 

1 


:!          THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

advanced  through  the  darkness.  The  ground  was  vel- 
vety and  springy  to  his  feet,  being  carpeted  with  dead 
pine-needles  and  leaves  and  mold  which  evidently  had 
been  undisturbed  for  years.  Leaves  and  branches 
brushed  against  his  body,  but  so  dark  was  it  that  he 
could  not  avoid  them.  Soon  he  walked  with  his  hand 
stretched  out  gropingly  before  him,  and  more  than  once 
the  hand  fetched  up  against  the  solid  trunks  of  massive 
trees.  All  about  him  he  knew  were  these  trees;  he 
sensed  the  loom  of  them  everywhere ;  and  he  experienced 
a  strange  feeling  of  microscopic  smallness  in  the  midst 
of  great  bulks  leaning  toward  him  to  crush  him.  Be- 
yond, he  knew,  was  the  house,  and  he  expected  to  find 
some  trail  or  winding  path  that  would  lead  easily  to  it. 

Once,  he  found  himself  trapped.  On  every  side  he 
groped  against  trees  and  branches,  or  blundered  into 
thickets  of  underbrush,  until  there  seemed  no  way  out. 
Then  he  turned  on  his  light,  circumspectly,  directing 
its  rays  to  the  ground  at  his  feet.  Slowly  and  care- 
fully he  moved  it  about  him,  the  white  brightness  show- 
ing in  sharp  detail  all  the  obstacles  to  his  progress.  He 
saw  an  opening  between  huge-trunked  trees,  and  ad- 
vanced through  it,  putting  out  the  light  and  treading  on 
dry  footing  as  yet  protected  from  the  drip  of  the  fog  by 
the  dense  foliage  overhead.  His  sense  of  direction  was 
good,  and  he  knew  he  was  going  toward  the  house. 

And  then  the  thing  happened — the  thing  unthinkable 
and  unexpected.  His  descending  foot  came  down  upon 
something  that  was"  soft  and  alive,  and  that  arose  with 
a  snort  under  the  weight  of  his  body.  He  sprang  clear, 
and  crouched  for  another  spring,  anywhere,  tense  and 
expectant,  keyed  for  the  onslaught  of  the  unknown.  He 


WHEN  THE  WOELD  WAS  YOUNG   3 

waited  a  moment,  wondering  what  manner  of  animal 
it  was  that  had  arisen  from  under  his  foot  and  that 
now  made  no  sound  nor  movement  and  that  must  be 
crouching  and  waiting  just  as  tensely  and  expectantly 
as  he.  The  strain  became  unbearable.  Holding  the 
night-stick  before  him,  he  pressed  the  button,  saw,  and 
screamed  aloud  in  terror.  He  was  prepared  for  any- 
thing, from  a  frightened  calf  or  fawn  to  a  belligerent 
lion,  but  he  was  not  prepared  for  what  he  saw.  In  that 
instant  his  tiny  searchlight,  sharp  and  white,  had  shown 
him  what  a  thousand  years  would  not  enable  him  to  for- 
get— a  man,  huge  and  blond,  yellow-haired  and  yellow- 
bearded,  naked  except  for  soft-tanned  moccasins  and 
what  seemed  a  goat-skin  about  his  middle.  Arms  and 
legs  were  bare,  as  were  his  shoulders  and  most  of  his 
chest.  The  skin  was  smooth  and  hairless,  but  browned 
by  sun  and  wind,  while  under  it  heavy  muscles  were 
knotted  like  fat  snakes. 

Still,  this  alone,  unexpected  as  it  well  was,  was  not 
what  had  made  the  man  scream  out.  What  had  caused 
his  terror  was  the  unspeakable  ferocity  of  the  face,  the 
wild-animal  glare  of  the  blue  eyes  scarcely  dazzled  by 
the  light,  the  pine-needles  matted  and  clinging  in  the 
beard  and  hair,  and  the  whole  formidable  body  crouched 
and  in  the  act  of  springing  at  him.  Practically  in  the 
instant  he  saw  all  this,  and  while  his  scream  still  rang, 
the  thing  leaped,  he  flung  his  night-stick  full  at  it,  and 
threw  himself  to  the  ground.  He  felt  its  feet  and  shins 
strike  against  his  ribs,  and  he  bounded  up  and  away 
while  the  thing  itself  hurled  onward  in  a  heavy  crashing 
fall  into  the  underbrush. 

As  the  noise  of  the  fall  ceased,  the  man  stopped  and 


4         THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

on  hands  and  knees  waited.  He  could  hear  the  thing 
moving  about,  searching  for  him,  and  he  was  afraid  to 
advertise  his  location  by  attempting  further  flight.  He 
knew  that  inevitably  he  would  crackle  the  underbrush 
and  be  pursued.  Once  he  drew  out  his  revolver,  then 
changed  his  mind.  He  had  recovered  his  composure  and 
hoped  to  get  away  without  noise.  Several  times  he 
heard  the  thing  beating  up  the  thickets  for  him,  and 
there  were  moments  when  it,  too,  remained  still  and  lis- 
tened. This  gave  an  idea  to  the  man.  One  of  his 
hands  was  resting  on  a  chunk  of  dead  wood.  Carefully, 
first  feeling  about  him  in  the  darkness  to  know  that  the 
full  swing  of  his  arm  was  clear,  he  raised  the  chunk  of 
wood  and  threw  it.  It  was  not  a  large  piece,  and  it  went 
far,  landing  noisily  in  a  bush.  He  heard  the  thing 
bound  into  the  bush,  and  at  the  same  time  himself 
crawled  steadily  away.  And  on  hands  and  knees, 
slowly  and  cautiously,  he  crawled  on,  till  his  knees  were 
wet  on  the  soggy  mold.  When  he  listened  he  heard 
naught  but  the  moaning  wind  and  the  drip-drip  of  the 
fog  from  the  branches.  Never  abating  his  caution,  he 
stood  erect  and  went  on  to  the  stone  wall,  over  which 
he  climbed  and  dropped  down  to  the  road  outside. 

Feeling  his  way  in  a  clump  of  bushes,  he  drew  out 
a  bicycle  and  prepared  to  mount.  He  was  in  the  act 
of  driving  the  gear  around  with  his  foot  for  the  pur- 
pose of  getting  the  opposite  pedal  in  position,  when  he 
heard  the  thud  of  a  heavy  body  that  landed  lightly  and 
evidently  on  its  feet.  He  did  not  wait  for  more,  but  ran, 
with  hands  on  the  handles  of  his  bicycle,  until  he  was 
able  to  vault  astride  the  saddle,  catch  the  pedals,  and 
start  a  spurt.  Behind  he  could  hear  the  quick  thud- 


WHEN  THE  WOELD  WAS  YOUNG   5 

thud  of  feet  on  the  dust  of  the  road,  but  he  drew  away 
from  it  and  lost  it. 

Unfortunately,  he  had  started  away  from  the  direc- 
tion of  town  and  was  heading  higher  up  into  the  hills. 
He  knew  that  on  this  particular  road  there  were  no  cross 
roads.  The  only  way  back  was  past  that  terror,  and 
he  could  not  steel  himself  to  face  it.  At  the  end  of  half 
an  hour,  finding  himself  on  an  ever  increasing  grade,  he 
dismounted.  For  still  greater  safety,  leaving  the  wheel 
by  the  roadside,  he  climbed  through  a  fence  into  what 
he  decided  was  a  hillside  pasture,  spread  a  newspaper 
on  the  ground,  and  sat  down. 

"Gosh!"  he  said  aloud,  mopping  the  sweat  and  fog 
from  his  face. 

And  1 1  Gosh ! ' '  he  said  once  again,  while  rolling  a  cig- 
arette and  as  he  pondered  the  problem  of  getting  back. 

But  he  made  no  attempt  to  go  back.  He  was  resolved 
not  to  face  that  road  in  the  dark,  and  with  head  bowed 
on  knees,  he  dozed,  waiting  for  daylight. 

How  long  afterward  he  did  not  know,  he  was  awak- 
ened by  the  yapping  bark  of  a  young  coyote.  As  he 
looked  about  and  located  it  on  the  brow  of  the  hill  be- 
hind him,  he  noted  the  change  that  had  come  over  the 
face  of  the  night.  The  fog  was  gone;  the  stars  and 
moon  were  out;  even  the  wind  had  died  down.  It  had 
transformed  into  a  balmy  California  summer  night.  He 
tried  to  doze  again,  but  the  yap  of  the  coyote  disturbed 
him.  Half  asleep,  he  heard  a  wild  and  eery  chant. 
Looking  about  him,  he  noticed  that  the  coyote  had  ceased 
its  noise  and  was  running  away  along  the  crest  of  the 
hill,  and  behind  it,  in  full  pursuit,  no  longer  chanting, 
ran  the  naked  creature  he  had  encountered  in  the  gar- 


6    THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

den.  It  was  a  young  coyote,  and  it  was  being  overtaken 
when  the  chase  passed  from  view.  The  man  trembled 
as  with  a  chill  as  he  started  to  his  feet,  clambered  over 
the  fence,  and  mounted  his  wheel.  But  it  was  his 
chance  and  he  knew  it.  The  terror  was  no  longer  be- 
tween him  and  Mill  Valley. 

He  sped  at  a  breakneck  rate  down  the  hill,  but  in  the 
turn  at  the  bottom,  in  the  deep  shadows,  he  encountered 
a  chuck-hole  and  pitched  headlong  over  the  handle  bar. 

"It's  sure  not  my  night,"  he  muttered,  as  he  exam- 
ined the  broken  fork  of  the  machine. 

Shouldering  the  useless  wheel,  he  trudged  on.  In  time 
he  came  to  the  stone  wall,  and,  half  disbelieving  his  ex- 
perience, he  sought  in  the  road  for  tracks,  and  found 
them — moccasin  tracks,  large  ones,  deep-bitten  into  the 
dust  at  the  toes.  It  was  while  bending  over  them,  ex- 
amining, that  again  he  heard  the  eery  chant.  He  had 
seen  the  thing  pursue  the  coyote,  and  he  knew  he  had 
no  chance  on  a  straight  run.  He  did  not  attempt  it, 
contenting  himself  with  hiding  in  the  shadows  on  the  off 
side  of  the  road. 

And  again  he  saw  the  thing  that  was  like  a  naked 
man,  running  swiftly  and  lightly  and  singing  as  it  ran. 
Opposite  him  it  paused,  and  his  heart  stood  still.  But 
instead  of  coming  toward  his  hiding-place,  it  leaped 
into  the  air,  caught  the  branch  of  a  roadside  tree,  and 
swung  swiftly  upward,  from  limb  to  limb,  like  an  ape. 
It  swung  across  the  wall,  and  a  dozen  feet  above  the 
top,  into  the  branches  of  another  tree,  and  dropped 
out  of  sight  to  the  ground.  The  man  waited  a  few  won- 
dering minutes,  then  started  on. 


WHEN  THE  WORLD  WAS  YOUNG       7 

II 

Dave  Blotter  leaned  belligerently  against  the  desk  that 
barred  the  way  to  the  private  office  of  James  Ward,  sen- 
ior partner  of  the  firm  of  Ward,  Knowles  &  Co.  Dave 
was  angry.  Every  one  in  the  outer  office  had  looked  him 
over  suspiciously,  and  the  man  who  faced  him  was  ex- 
cessively suspicious. 

"You  just  tell  Mr.  Ward  it's  important/'  he  urged. 

"I  tell  you  he  is  dictating  and  cannot  be  disturbed," 
was  the  answer.  "Come  to-morrow." 

"To-morrow  will  be  too  late.  You  just  trot  along 
and  tell  Mr.  Ward  it's  a  matter  of  life  and  death." 

The  secretary  hesitated  and  Dave  seized  the  advan- 
tage. 

"You  just  tell  him  I  was  across  the  bay  in  Mill  Valley 
last  night,  and  that  I  want  to  put  him  wise  to  some- 
thing." 

"What  name?"  was  the  query. 

"Never  mind  the  name.     He  don't  know  me." 

When  Dave  was  shown  into  the  private  office,  he  was 
still  in  the  belligerent  frame  of  mind,  but  when  he  saw 
a  large  fair  man  whirl  in  a  revolving  chair  from  dictat- 
ing to  a  stenographer  to  face  him,  Dave's  demeanor 
abruptly  changed.  He  did  not  know  why  it  changed, 
and  he  was  secretly  angry  with  himself. 

"You  are  Mr.  Ward?"  Dave  asked  with  a  fatuous- 
ness that  still  further  irritated  him.  He  had  never  in- 
tended it  at  all. 

"Yes,"  came  the  answer.    "And  who  are  you?" 

"Harry  Bancroft,"  Dave  lied.  "You  don't  know 
me,  and  my  name  don't  matter." 


8          THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

"You  sent  in  word  that  you  were  in  Mill  Valley  last 
night?'' 

"You  live  there,  don't  you?"  Dave  countered,  look- 
ing suspiciously  at  the  stenographer. 

"Yes.  What  do  you  mean  to  see  me  about?  I  am 
very  busy." 

"I'd  like  to  see  you  alone,  sir." 

Mr.  Ward  gave  him  a  quick,  penetrating  look,  hesi- 
tated, then  made  up  his  mind. 

"That  will  do  for  a  few  minutes,  Miss  Potter." 

The  girl  arose,  gathered  her  notes  together,  and  passed 
out.  Dave  looked  at  Mr.  James  Ward  wonderingly,  un- 
til that  gentleman  broke  his  train  of  inchoate  thought. 

"Well?" 

"I  was  over  in  Mill  Valley  last  night,"  Dave  began 
confusedly. 

"I've  heard  that  before.    What  do  you  want?" 

And  Dave  proceeded  in  the  face  of  a  growing  convic- 
tion that  was  unbelievable. 

"I  was  at  your  house,  or  in  the  grounds,  I  mean." 

"What  were  you  doing  there?" 

"I  came  to  break  in,"  Dave  answered  in  all  frank- 
ness. ' '  I  heard  you  lived  all  alone  with  a  Chinaman  for 
cook,  and  it  looked  good  to  me.  Only  I  didn't  break  in. 
Something  happened  that  prevented.  That's  why  I'm 
here.  I  come  to  warn  you.  I  found  a  wild  man  loose 
in  your  grounds — a  regular  devil.  He  could  pull  a  guy 
like  me  to  pieces.  He  gave  me  the  run  of  my  life.  He 
don't  wear  any  clothes  to  speak  of,  he  climbs  trees  like 
a  monkey,  and  he  runs  like  a  deer.  I  saw  him  chasing 
a  coyote,  and  the  last  I  saw  of  it,  by  God,  he  was  gaining 
on  it." 


WHEN  THE  WORLD  WAS  YOUNG   9 

Dave  paused  and  looked  for  the  effect  that  would  fol- 
low his  words.  But  no  effect  came.  James  Ward  was 
quietly  curious,  and  that  was  all. 

"Very  remarkable,  very  remarkable,"  he  murmured. 
'  *  A  wild  man,  you  say.  Why  have  you  come  to  tell  me  ? " 

"To  warn  you  of  your  danger.  I'm  something  of  a 
hard  proposition  myself,  but  I  don't  believe  in  killing 
people  .  .  .  that  is,  unnecessarily.  I  realized  that  you  was 
in  danger.  I  thought  I'd  warn  you.  Honest,  that's 
the  game.  Of  course,  if  you  wanted  to  give  me  anything 
for  my  trouble,  I  'd  take  it.  That  was  in  my  mind,  too. 
But  I  don't  care  whether  you  give  me  anything  or  not. 
I've  warned  you  anyway,  and  done  my  duty." 

Mr.  Ward  meditated  and  drummed  on  the  surface  of 
his  desk.  Dave  noticed  that  his  hands  were  large,  power- 
ful, withal  well-cared  for  despite  their  dark  sunburn. 
Also,  he  noted  what  had  already  caught  his  eye  before — 
a  tiny  strip  of  flesh-colored  courtplaster  on  the  forehead 
over  one  eye.  And  still  the  thought  that  forced  itself 
into  his  mind  was  unbelievable. 

Mr.  Ward  took  a  wallet  from  his  inside  coat  pocket, 
'drew  out  a  greenback,  and  passed  it  to  Dave,  who  noted 
as  he  pocketed  it  that  it  was  for  twenty  dollars. 

" Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Ward,  indicating  that  the 
interview  was  at  an  end.  "I  shall  have  the  matter  in- 
vestigated. A  wild  man  running  loose  is  dangerous." 

But  so  quiet  a  man  was  Mr.  Ward,  that  Dave's  cour- 
age returned.  Besides,  a  new  theory  had  suggested 
itself.  The  wild  man  was  evidently  Mr.  Ward's  brother, 
a  lunatic  privately  confined.  Dave  had  heard  of  such 
things.  Perhaps  Mr.  Ward  wanted  it  kept  quiet.  That 
was  why  he  had  given  him  the  twenty  dollars. 


10        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

' 'Say/'  Dave  began,  "now  I  come  to  think  of  it  that 
wild  man  looked  a  lot  like  you — " 

That  was  as  far  as  Dave  got,  for  at  that  moment 
he  witnessed  a  transformation  and  found  himself  gaz- 
ing into  the  same  unspeakably  ferocious  blue  eyes  of 
the  night  before,  at  the  same  clutching  talon-like  hands, 
and  at  the  same  formidable  bulk  in  the  act  of  spring- 
ing upon  him.  But  this  time  Dave  had  no  night-stick 
to  throw,  and  he  was  caught  by  the  biceps  of  both  arms 
in  a  grip  so  terrific  that  it  made  him  groan  with  pain. 
He  saw  the  large  white  teeth  exposed,  for  all  the  world 
as  a  dog's  about  to  bite.  Mr.  Ward's  beard  brushed 
his  face  as  the  teeth  went  in  for  the  grip  of  his  throat. 
But  the  bite  was  not  given.  Instead,  Dave  felt  the 
other's  body  stiffen  as  with  an  iron  restraint,  and  then 
he  was  flung  aside,  without  effort  but  with  such  force 
that  only  the  wall  stopped  his  momentum  and  dropped 
him  gasping  to  the  floor. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  coming  here  and  trying  to 
blackmail  me  ? "  Mr.  Ward  was  snarling  at  him.  ' '  Here, 
give  me  back  that  money." 

Dave  passed  the  bill  back  without  a  word. 

"I  thought  you  came  here  with  good  intentions.  I 
know  you  now.  Let  me  see  and  hear  no  more  of  you, 
or  I'll  put  you  in  prison  where  you  belong.  Do  you 
understand  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  sir,"  Dave  gasped. 

"Then  go." 

And  Dave  went,  without  further  word,  both  his  biceps 
aching  intolerably  from  the  bruise  of  that  tremendous 
grip.  As  his  hand  rested  on  the  door  knob,  he  was 
stopped. 


WHEN  THE  WOELD  WAS  YOUNG     11 

"You  were  lucky/'  Mr.  Ward  was  saying,  and  Dave 
noted  that  his  face  and  eyes  were  cruel  and  gloating 
and  proud.  "You  were  lucky.  Had  I  wanted,  I  could 
have  torn  your  muscles  out  of  your  arms  and  thrown 
them  in  the  waste  basket  there." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Dave;  and  absolute  conviction  vi- 
brated in  his  voice. 

He  opened  the  door  and  passed  out.  The  secretary 
looked  at  him  interrogatively. 

"Gosh!"  was  all  Dave  vouchsafed,  and  with  this  ut- 
terance passed  out  of  the  offices  and  the  story. 


Ill 


James  G.  Ward  was  forty  years  of  age,  a  successful 
business  man,  and  very  unhappy.  For  forty  years  he 
had  vainly  tried  to  solve  a  problem  that  was  really 
himself  and  that  with  increasing  years  became  more 
and  more  a  woeful  affliction.  In  himself  he  was  two 
men,  and,  chronologically  speaking,  these  men  were  sev- 
eral thousand  years  or  so  apart.  He  had  studied  the 
question  of  dual  personality  probably  more  profoundly 
than  any  half  dozen  of  the  leading  specialists  in  that  in- 
tricate and  mysterious  psychological  field.  In  himself 
he  was  a  different  case  from  any  that  had  been  recorded. 
Even  the  most  fanciful  flights  of  the  fiction-writers  had 
not  quite  hit  upon  him.  He  was  not  a  Dr.  Jekyll  and 
Mr.  Hyde,  nor  was  he  like  the  unfortunate  young  man 
in  Kipling's  Greatest  Story  in  the  World.  His  two 
personalities  were  so  mixed  that  they  were  practically 
aware  of  themselves  and  of  each  other  all  the  time. 


12        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOKIES 

His  one  self  was  that  of  a  man  whose  rearing  and 
education  were  modern  and  who  had  lived  through  the 
latter  part  of  the  nineteenth  century  and  well  into  the 
first  decade  of  the  twentieth.  His  other  self  he  had  lo- 
cated as  a  savage  and  a  barbarian  living  under  the 
primitive  conditions  of  several  thousand  years  before. 
But  which  self  was  he,  and  which  was  the  other,  he 
could  never  tell.  For  he  was  both  selves,  and  both  selves 
all  the  time.  Very  rarely  indeed  did  it  happen  that 
one  self  did  not  know  what  the  other  was  doing.  An- 
other thing  was  that  he  had  no  visions  nor  memories  of 
the  past  in  which  that  early  self  had  lived.  That  early 
self  lived  in  the  present;  but  while  it  lived  in  the  pres- 
ent, it  was  under  the  compulsion  to  live  the  way  of  life 
that  must  have  been  in  that  distant  past. 

In  his  childhood  he  had  been  a  problem  to  his  father 
and  mother,  and  to  the  family  doctors,  though  never  had 
they  come  within  a  thousand  miles  of  hitting  upon  the 
clue  to  his  erratic  conduct.  Thus,  they  could  not  under- 
stand his  excessive  somnolence  in  the  forenoon,  nor  his 
excessive  activity  at  night.  When  they  found  him  wan- 
dering along  the  hallways  at  night,  or  climbing  over 
giddy  roofs,  or  running  in  the  hills,  they  decided  he  was 
a  somnambulist.  In  reality  he  was  wide-eyed  awake 
and  merely  under  the  night-roaming  compulsion  of  his 
early  life.  Questioned  by  an  obtuse  medico,  he  once  told 
the  truth  and  suffered  the  ignominy  of  having  the  reve- 
lation contemptuously  labeled  and  dismissed  as 
' '  dreams. " 

The  point  was,  that  as  twilight  and  evening  came  on 
he  became  wakeful.  The  four  walls  of  a  room  were 
an  irk  and  a  restraint.  He  heard  a  thousand  voices 


WHEN  THE  WORLD  WAS  YOUNG     13 

whispering  to  him  through  the  darkness.  The  night 
called  to  him,  for  he  was,  for  that  period  of  the  twenty- 
four  hours,  essentially  a  night-prowler.  But  nobody 
understood,  and  never  again  did  he  attempt  to  explain. 
They  classified!  him  as  a  sleep-walker  and  took  precau- 
tions accordingly — precautions  that  very  often  were  fu- 
tile. As  his  childhood  advanced,  he  grew  more  cun- 
ning, so  that  the  major  portion  of  all  his  nights  were 
spent  in  the  open  at  realizing  his  other  self.  As  a  re- 
sult, he  slept  in  the  forenoons.  Morning  studies  and 
schools  were  impossible,  and  it  was  discovered  that  only 
in  the  afternoons,  under  private  teachers,  could  he 
be  taught  anything.  Thus  was  his  modern  self  edu- 
cated and  developed. 

But  a  problem,  as  a  child,  he  ever  remained.  He  was 
known  as  a  little  demon  of  insensate  cruelty  and 
viciousness.  The  family  medicos  privately  adjudged 
him  a  mental  monstrosity  and  a  degenerate.  Such  few 
boy  companions  as  he  had,  hailed  him  as  a  wonder, 
though  they  were  all  afraid  of  him.  He  could  outclimb, 
outswim,  outrun,  outdevil  any  of  them ;  while  none  dared 
fight  with  him.  He  was  too  terribly  strong,  too  madly 
furious. 

When  nine  years  of  age  he  ran  away  to  the  hills,  where 
he  flourished,  night-prowling,  for  seven  weeks  before 
he  was  discovered  and  brought  home.  The  marvel  was 
how  he  had  managed  to  subsist  and  keep  in  condition 
during  that  time.  They  did  not  know,  anolv  he  never, 
told  them,  of  the  rabbits  he  had  killed,  of  the  quail, 
young  and  old,  he  had  captured  and  devoured,  of  the 
farmers'  chicken-roosts  he  had  raided,  nor  of  the  cave- 
lair  he  had  made  and  carpeted  with  dry  leaves  and 


14        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

grasses  and  in  which  he  had  slept  in  warmth  and  com- 
fort through  the  forenoons  of  many  days. 

At  college  he  was  notorious  for  his  sleepiness  and 
stupidity  during  the  morning  lectures  and  for  his  bril- 
liance in  the  afternoon.  By  collateral  reading  and  by 
borrowing  the  notebook  of  his  fellow  students  he  man- 
aged to  scrape  through  the  detestable  morning  courses, 
while  his  afternoon  courses  were  triumphs.  In  football 
he  proved  a  giant  and  a  terror,  and,  in  almost  every 
form  of  track  athletics,  save  for  strange  Berserker  rages 
that  were  sometimes  displayed,  he  could  be  depended 
upon  to  win.  But  his  fellows  were  afraid  to  box  with 
him,  and  he  signalized  his  last  wrestling  bout  by  sinking 
his  teeth  into  the  shoulder  of  his  opponent. 

After  college,  his  father,  in  despair,  sent  him  among 
the  cow-punchers  of  a  Wyoming  ranch.  Three  months 
later  the  doughty  cowmen  confessed  he  was  too  much 
for  them  and  telegraphed  his  father  to  come  and  take 
the  wild  man  away.  Also,  when  the  father  arrived  to 
take  him  away,  the  cowmen  allowed  that  they  would 
vastly  prefer  chumming  with  howling  cannibals,  gib- 
bering lunatics,  cavorting  gorillas,  grizzly  bears,  and 
man-eating  tigers  than  with  this  particular  young  col- 
lege product  with  hair  parted  in  the  middle. 

There  was  one  exception  to  the  lack  of  memory  of  the 
life  of  his  early  self,  and  that  was  language.  By  some 
quirk  of  atavism,  a  certain  portion  of  that  early  self's 
language  had  come  down  to  him  as  a  racial  memory. 
In  moments  of  happiness,  exaltation,  or  battle,  he  was 
prone  to  burst  out  in  wild  barbaric  songs  or  chants.  It 
was  by  this  means  that  he  located  in  time  and  space  that 
strayed  half  of  him  who  should  have  been  dead  and 


WHEN  THE  WOELD  WAS  YOUNG     15 

dust  for  thousands  of  years.  He  sang,  once,  and  de- 
liberately, several  of  the  ancient  chants  in  the  presence 
of  Professor  Wertz,  who  gave  courses  in  old  Saxon  and 
who  was  a  philologist  of  repute  and  passion.  At  the 
first  one,  the  professor  pricked  up  his  ears  and  de- 
manded to  know  what  mongrel  tongue  or  hog-German 
it  was.  When  the  second  chant  was  rendered,  the  pro- 
fessor was  highly  excited.  James  Ward  then  concluded 
the  performance  by  giving  a  song  that  always  irresis- 
tibly rushed  to  his  lips  when  he  was  engaged  in  fierce 
struggling  or  fighting.  Then  it  was  that  Professor 
Wertz  proclaimed  it  no  hog-German,  but  early  German, 
or  early  Teuton,  of  a  date  that  must  far  precede  any- 
thing that  had  ever  been  discovered  and  handed  down 
by  the  scholars.  So  early  was  it  that  it  was  beyond 
him;  yet  it  was  filled  with  haunting  reminiscences  of 
word-forms  he  knew  and  which  his  trained  intuition  told 
him  were  true  and  real.  He  demanded  the  source  of 
the  songs,  and  asked  to  borrow  the  previous  book  that 
contained  them.  Also,  he  demanded  to  know  why  young 
Ward  had  always  posed  as  being  profoundly  ignorant 
of  the  German  language.  And  Ward  could  neither  ex- 
plain his  ignorance  nor  lend  the  book.  Whereupon, 
after  pleadings  and  entreaties  that  extended  through 
weeks,  Professor  Wertz  took  a  dislike  to  the  young  man, 
believed  him  a  liar,  and  classified  him  as  a  man  of  mon- 
strous selfishness  for  not  giving  him  a  glimpse  of  this 
wonderful  screed  that  was  older  than  the  oldest  any 
philologist  had  ever  known  or  dreamed. 

But  little  good  did  it  do  this  much-mixed  young  man 
to  know  that  half  of  him  was  late  American  and  the 
other  half  early  Teuton.  Nevertheless,  the  late  Ameri- 


16        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

can  in  him  was  no  weakling,  and  he  (if  he  were  a  he  and 
had  a  shred  of  existence  outside  of  these  two)  com- 
pelled an  adjustment  or  compromise  between  his  one  self 
that  was  a  night-prowling  savage  that  kept  his  other  self 
sleepy  of  mornings,  and  that  other  self  that  was  cul- 
tured and  refined  and  that  wanted  to  be  normal  and 
love  and  prosecute  business  like  other  people.  The  aft- 
ernoons and  early  evenings  he  gave  to  the  one,  the  nights 
to  the  other ;  the  forenoons  and  parts  of  the  nights  were 
devoted  to  sleep  for  the  twain.  But  in  the  mornings  he 
slept  in  bed  like  a  civilized,  man.  In  the  night  time  he 
slept  like  a  wild  animal,  as  he  had  slept  the  night  Dave 
Slotter  stepped  on  him  in  the  woods. 

Persuading  his  father  to  advance  the  capital,  he  went 
into  business,  and  keen  and  successful  business  he  made 
of  it,  devoting  his  afternoons  whole-souled  to  it,  while 
his  partner  devoted  the  mornings.  The  early  evenings 
he  spent  socially,  but,  as  the  hour  grew  to  nine  or  ten, 
an  irresistible  restlessness  overcame  him  and  he  disap- 
peared from  the  haunts  of  men  until  the  next  after- 
noon. Friends  and  acquaintances  thought  that  he  spent 
much  of  his  time  in  sport.  And  they  were  right,  though 
they  never  would  have  dreamed  of  the  nature  of  the 
sport,  even  if  they  had  seen  him  running  coyotes  in 
night-chases  over  the  hills  of  Mill  Valley.  Neither  were 
the  schooner  captains  believed  when  they  reported  see- 
ing, on  cold  winter  mornings,  a  man  swimming  in  the 
tide-rips  of  Raccoon  Straits  or  in  the  swift  currents 
between  Goat  Island  and  Angel  Island  miles  from 
shore. 

In  the  bungalow  at  Mill  Valley  he  lived  alone,  save 
for  Lee  Sing,  the  Chinese  cook  and  factotum,  who  knew 


WHEN  THE  WORLD  WAS  YOUNG     17 

much  about  the  strangeness  of  his  master,  who  was  paid 
well  for  saying  nothing,  and  who  never  did  -say  any- 
thing. After  the  satisfaction  of  his  nights,  a  morning 's 
sleep,  and  a  breakfast  of  Lee  Sing's,  James  "Ward 
crossed  the  bay  to  San  Francisco  on  a  midday  ferryboat 
and  went  tos  the  club  and  on  to  his  office,  as  normal  and 
conventional  a  man  of  business  as  could  be  found  in  the 
city.  But  as  the  evening  lengthened,  the  night  called 
to  him.  There  came  a  quickening  of  all  his  perceptions 
and  a  restlessness.  His  hearing  was  suddenly  acute; 
the  myriad  night-noises  told  him  a  luring  and  familiar 
story;  and,  if  alone,  he  would  begin  to  pace  up  and 
down  the  narrow  room  like  any  caged  animal  from  the 
wild. 

Once,  he  ventured  to  fall  in  love.  He  never  permit- 
ted himself  that  diversion  again.  He  was  afraid.  And 
for  many  a  day  the  young  lady,  scared  at  least  out  of 
a  portion  of  her  young  ladyhood,  bore  on  her  arms  and 
shoulders  and  wrists  divers  black-and-blue  bruises — 
tokens  of  caresses  which  he  had  bestowed  in  all  fond 
gentleness  but  too  late  at  night.  There  was  the  mis- 
take. Had  he  ventured  love-making  in  the  afternoon, 
all  would  have  been  well,  for  it  would  have  been  as  the 
quiet  gentleman  that  he  would  have  made  love — but  at 
night  it  was  the  uncouth,  wife-stealing  savage  of  the 
dark  German  forests.  Out  of  his  wisdom,  he  decided 
that  afternoon  love-making  could  be  prosecuted  success- 
fully; but  out  of  the  same  wisdom  he  was  convinced 
that  marriage  would  prove  a  ghastly  failure.  He  found 
it  appalling  to  imagine  being  married  and  encountering 
his  wife  after  dark. 

So  he  had  eschewed  all  love-making,  regulated  his  dual 


18        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

life,  cleaned  up  a  million  in  business,  fought  shy  of 
match-making  mamas  and  bright-  and  eager-eyed  young 
ladies  of  various  ages,  met  Lilian  Gersdale  and  made  it 
a  rigid  observance  never  to  see  her  later  than  eight 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  ran  of  nights  after  his  coyotes, 
and  slept  in  forest  lairs — and  through  it  all  had  kept  his 
secret  save  for  Lee  Sing  .  .  .  and  now,  Dave  Slotter. 
It  was  the  latter 's  discovery  of  both  his  selves  that 
frightened  him.  In  spite  of  the  counter  fright  he  had 
given  the  burglar,  the  latter  might  talk.  And  even  if 
he  did  not,  sooner  or  later  he  would  be  found  out  by 
some  one  else. 

Thus  it  was  that  James  Ward  made  a  fresh  and 
heroic  effort  to  control  the  Teutonic  barbarian  that  was 
half  of  him.  So  well  did  he  make  it  a  point  to  see  Lilian 
in  the  afternoons  and  early  evenings,  that  the  time 
came  when  she  accepted  him  for  better  or  worse,  and 
when  he  prayed  privily  and  fervently  that  it  was  not 
for  worse.  During  this  period  no  prize-fighter  ever 
trained  more  harshly  and  faithfully  for  a  contest  than 
he  trained  to  subdue  the  wild  savage  in  him  Among 
other  things,  he  strove  to  exhaust  himself  during  the 
day,  so  that  sleep  would  render  him  deaf  to  the  call  of 
the  night.  He  took  a  vacation  from  the  office  and  went 
on  long  hunting  trips,  following  the  deer  through  the 
most  inaccessible  and  rugged  country  he  could  find — 
and  always  in  the  daytime.  Night  found  him  indoors 
and  tired.  At  home  he  installed  a  score  of  exercise 
machines,  and  where  other  men  might  go  through  a  par- 
ticular movement  ten  times,  he  went  hundreds.  Also, 
as  a  compromise,  he  built  a  sleeping  porch  on  the  second 
story.  Here  he  at  least  breathed  the  blessed  night  air. 


WHEN  THE  WORLD  WAS  YOUNG     19 

Double  screens  prevented  him  from  escaping  into  the 
woods,  and  each  night  Lee  Sing  locked  him  in  and  each 
morning  let  him  out. 

The  time  came,  in  the  month  of  August,  when  he  en- 
gaged additional  servants  to  assist  Lee  Sing  and  dared 
a  house  party  in  his  Mill  Valley  bungalow.  Lilian,  her 
mother  and  brother,  and  half  a  dozen  mutual  friends, 
were  the  guests.  For  two  days  and  nights  all  went 
well.  And  on  the  third  night,  playing  bridge  till 
eleven  o'clock,  he  had  reason  to  be  proud  of  himself. 
His  restlessness  he  successfully  hid,  but  as  luck  would 
have  it,  Lilian  Gersdale  was  his  opponent  on  his  right. 
She  was  a  frail  delicate  flower  of  a  woman,  and  in  his 
night-mood  her  very  frailty  incensed  him.  Not  that  he 
loved  her  less,  but  that  he  felt  almost  irresistibly  im- 
pelled to  reach  out  and  paw  and  maul  her.  Especially 
was  this  true  when  she  was  engaged  in  playing  a  win- 
ning hand  against  him. 

He  had  one  of  the  deer-hounds  brought  in,  and,  when 
it  seemed  he  must  fly  to  pieces  with  the  tension,  a  caress- 
ing hand  laid  on  the  animal  brought  him  relief.  These 
contacts  with  the  hairy  coat  gave  him  instant  easement 
and  enabled  him  to  play  out  the  evening.  Nor  did  any 
one  guess  the  terrible  struggle  their  host  was  making, 
the  while  he  laughed  so  carelessly  and  played  so  keenly 
and  deliberately. 

When  they  separated  for  the  night,  he  saw  to  it  that 
he  parted  from  Lilian  in  the  presence  of  the  others. 
Once  on  his  sleeping  porch,  and  safely  locked  in,  he 
doubled  and  tripled  and  even  quadrupled  his  exercises 
until,  exhausted,  he  lay  down  on  the  couch  to  woo  sleep 
and  to  ponder  two  problems  that  especially  troubled 


20        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

him.  One  was  this  matter  of  exercise.  It  was  a  para- 
dox. The  more  he  exercised  in  this  excessive  fashion, 
the  stronger  he  became.  While  it  was  true  that  he  thus 
quite  tired  out  his  night-running  Teutonic  self,  it 
seemed  that  he  was  merely  setting  back  the  fatal  day 
when  his  strength  would  be  too  much  for  him  and  over- 
power him,  and  then  it  would  be  a  strength  more  ter- 
rible than  he  had  yet  known.  The  other  problem  was 
that  of  his  marriage  and  of  the  stratagems  he  must  em- 
ploy in  order  to  avoid  his  wife  after  dark.  And  thus 
fruitlessly  pondering  he  fell  asleep. 

Now,  where  the  huge  grizzly  bear  came  from  that 
night  was  long  a  mystery,  while  the  people  of  the 
Springs  Brothers'  Circus,  showing  at  Sausalito,  searched 
long  and  vainly  for  "Big  Ben,  the  Biggest  Grizzly  in 
Captivity/'  But  Big  Ben  escaped,  and,  out  of  the 
mazes  of  half  a  thousand  bungalows  and  country  estates, 
selected  the  grounds  of  James  J.  "Ward  for  visitation. 
The  first  Mr.  Ward  knew  was  when  he  found  himself  on 
his  feet,  quivering  and  tense,  a  surge  of  battle  in  his 
breast  and  on  his  lips  the  old  war-chant.  From  without 
came  a  wild  baying  and  bellowing  of  the  hounds.  And 
sharp  as  a  knife-thrust  through  the  pandemonium  came 
the  agony  of  a  stricken  dog — his  dog,  he  knew. 

Not  stopping  for  slippers,  pajama-clad,  he  burst 
through  the  door  Lee  Sing  had  so  carefully  locked,-  and 
sped  down  the  stairs  and  out  into  the  night.  As  his 
naked  feet  struck  the  graveled  driveway,  he  stopped  ab- 
ruptly, reached  under  the  steps  to  a  hiding-place  he 
knew  well,  and  pulled  forth  a  huge  knotty  club — his 
old  companion  on  many  a  mad  night  adventure  on  the 
hills.  The  frantic  hullabaloo  of  the  dogs  was  coming 


WHEN  THE  WORLD  WAS  YOUNG     21 

nearer,  and,  swinging  the  club,  he  sprang  straight  into 
the  thickets  to  meet  it. 

The  aroused  household  assembled  on  the  wide  ver- 
anda. Somebody  turned  on  the  electric  lights,  but  they 
could  see  nothing  but  one  another's  frightened  faces. 
Beyond  the  brightly  illuminated  driveway  the  trees 
formed  a  wall  of  impenetrable  blackness.  Yet  some- 
where in  that  blackness  a  terrible  struggle  was  going 
on.  There  was  an  infernal  outcry  of  animals,  a  great 
snarling  and  growling,  the  sound  of  blows  being  struck, 
and  a  smashing  and  crashing  of  underbrush  by  heavy 
bodies. 

The  tide  of  battle  swept  out  from  among  the  trees 
and  upon  the  driveway  just  beneath  the  onlookers. 
Then  they  saw.  Mrs.  Gersdale  cried  out  and  clung 
fainting  to  her  son.  Lilian,  clutching  the  railing  so 
spasmodically  that  a  bruising  hurt  was  left  in  her  finger- 
ends  for  days,  gazed  horror-stricken  at  a  yellow-haired, 
wild-eyed  giant  whom  she  recognized  as  the  man  who 
was  to  be  her  husband.  He  was  swinging  a  great  club, 
and  fighting  furiously  and  calmly  with  a  shaggy  mon- 
ster that  was  bigger  than  any  bear  she  had  ever  seen. 
One  rip  of  the  beast's  claws  had  dragged  away  Ward's 
pajama-coat  and  streaked  his  flesh  with  blood. 

While  most  of  Lilian  Gersdale 's  fright  was  for  the 
man  beloved,  there  was  a  large  portion  of  it  due  to  the 
man  himself.  Never  had  she  dreamed  so  formidable  and 
magnificent  a  savage  lurked  under  the  starched  shirt 
and  conventional  garb  of  her  betrothed.  And  never  had 
she  had  any  conception  of  how  a  man  battled.  Such  a 
battle  was  certainly  not  modern;  nor  was  she  there  be- 
holding a  modern  man,  though  she  did  not  know  it. 


22        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

For  this  was  not  Mr.  James  J.  Ward,  the  San  Francisco 
business  man,  but  one  unnamed  and  unknown,  a  crude, 
rude  savage  creature  who,  by  some  freak  of  chance,  lived 
again  after  thrice  a  thousand  years. 

The  hounds,  ever  maintaining  their  mad  uproar,  cir- 
cled about  the  fight,  or  dashed  in  and  out,  distracting 
the  bear.  "When  the  animal  turned  to  meet  such  flank- 
ing assaults,  the  man  leaped  in  and  the  club  came  down. 
Angered  afresh  by  every  such  blow,  the  bear  would 
rush,  and  the  man,  leaping  and  skipping,  avoiding  the 
dogs,  went  backwards  or  circled  to  one  side  or  the  other. 
Whereupon  the  dogs,  taking  advantage  of  the  opening, 
would  again  spring  in  and  draw  the  animal's  wrath  to 
them. 

The  end  came  suddenly.  Whirling,  the  grizzly  caught 
a  hound  with  a  wide  sweeping  cuff  that  sent  the  brute, 
its  ribs  caved  in  and  its  back  broken,  hurtling  twenty 
feet.  Then  the  human  brute  went  mad.  A  foaming 
rage  flecked  the  lips  that  parted  with  a  wild  inarticu- 
late cry,  as  it  sprang  in,  swung  the  club  mightily  in 
both  hands,  and  brought  it  down  full  on  the  head  of 
the  uprearing  grizzly.  Not  even  the  skull  of  a  grizzly 
could  withstand  the  crushing  force  of  such  a  blow,  and 
the  animal  went  down  to  meet  the  worrying  of  the 
hounds.  And  through  their  scurrying  leaped  the  man, 
squarely  upon  the  body,  where,  in  the  white  electric 
light,  resting  on  his  club,  he  chanted  a  triumph  in  an 
unknown  tongue — a  song  so  ancient  that  Professor 
Wertz  would  have  given  ten  years  of  his  life  for  it. 

His  guests  rushed  to  possess  him  and  acclaim  him, 
but  James  Ward,  suddenly  looking  out  of  the  eyes  of 
the  early  Teuton,  saw  the  fair  frail  Twentieth  Century 


WHEN  THE  WOELD  WAS  YOUNG     23 

girl  he  loved,  and  felt  something  snap  in  his  brain.  He 
staggered  weakly  toward  her,  dropped  the  club,  and 
nearly  fell.  Something  had  gone  wrong  with  him.  In- 
side his  brain  was  an  intolerable  agony.  It  seemed  as 
if  the  soul  of  him  were  flying  asunder.  Following  the 
excited  gaze  of  the  others,  he  glanced  back  and  saw  the 
carcass  of  the  bear.  The  sight  filled  him  with  fear. 
He  uttered  a  cry  and  would  have  fled,  had  they  not  re- 
strained him  and  led  him  into  the  bungalow. 

James  J.  "Ward  is  still  at  the  head  of  the  firm  of  Ward, 
Knowles  &  Co.  But  he  no  longer  lives  in  the  country; 
nor  does  he  run  of  nights  after  the  coyotes  under  the 
moon.  The  early  Teuton  in  him  died  the  night  of  the 
Mill  Valley  fight  with  the  bear.  James  J.  Ward  is  now 
wholly  James  J.  Ward,  and  he  shares  no  part  of  his  be- 
ing with  any  vagabond  anachronism  from  the  younger 
world.  And  so  wholly  is  James  J.  Ward  modern,  that 
he  knows  in  all  its  bitter  fullness  the  curse  of  civilized 
fear.  He  is  now  afraid  of  the  dark,  and  night  in  the 
forest  is  to  him  a  thing  of  abysmal  terror.  His  city 
house  is  of  the  spick  and  span  order,  and  he  evinces  a 
great  interest  in  burglar-proof  devices.  His  home  is  a 
tangle  of  electric  wires,  and  after  bed-time  a  guest  can 
scarcely  breathe  without  setting  off  an  alarm.  Also,  he 
has  invented  a  combination  keyless  door-lock  that  trav- 
elers may  carry  in  their  vest  pockets  and  apply  imme- 
diately and  successfully  under  all  circumstances.  But 
his  wife  does  not  deem  him  a  coward.  She  knows  bet- 
ter. And,  like  any  hero,  he  is  content  to  rest  on  his 
laurels.  His  bravery  is  never  questioned  by  those  of 
his  friends  who  are  aware  of  the  Mill  Valley  episode. 


THE  RETURN* 

BY  ALGERNON  BLACKWOOD 

IT  was  curious — that  sense  of  dull  uneasiness  that 
came  over  him  so  suddenly,  so  stealthily  at  first  he 
scarcely  noticed  it,  but  with  such  marked  increase 
after  a  time  that  he  presently  got  up  and  left  the  thea- 
ter.    His  seat  was  on  the  gangway  of  the  dress  circle, 
and  he  slipped  out  awkwardly  in  the  middle  of  what 
seemed  to  be  the  best  and  j oiliest  song  of  the  piece. 
The  full  house  was  shaking  with  laughter ;  so  infectious 
was  the  gaiety  that  even  strangers  turned  to  one  another 
as  much  as  to  say,  "Now,  isn't  that  funny ?" 

It  was  curious,  too,  the  way  the  feeling  first  got  into 
him  at  all,  and  in  the  full  swing  of  laughter,  music,  light- 
heartedness;  for  it  came  as  a  vague  suggestion,  "I've 
forgotten  something — something  I  meant  to  do — some- 
thing of  importance.  What  in  the  world  was  it,  now?" 
And  he  thought  hard,  searching  vainly  through  his 
mind;  then  dismissed  it  as  the  danckig  caught 
his  attention.  It  came  back  a  little  later  again,  during 
a  passage  of  long-winded  talk  that  bored  him  and  set  his 
attention  free  once  more,  but  came  more  strongly  this 
time,  insisting  on  an  answer.  What  could  it  have  been 
that  he  had  overlooked,  left  undone,  omitted  to  see  to? 
It  went  on  nibbling  at  the  subconscious  part  of  him. 

*From  Pan's  Garden,  by  Algernon  Blackwood — Permission 
of  the  Macmillan  Company. 

24 


THE  EETUEN  25 

Several  times  this  happened,  this  dismissal  and  return, 
till  at  last  the  thing  declared  itself  more  plainly — and 
he  felt  bothered,  troubled,  distinctly  uneasy. 

He  was  wanted  somewhere.  There  was  somewhere 
else  he  ought  to  be.  That  describes  it  best,  perhaps. 
Some  engagement  of  moment  had  entirely  slipped  his 
memory — .an  engagement  that  involved  another  person, 
too.  But  where,  what,  with  whom?  And,  at  length, 
this  vague  uneasiness  amounted  to  positive  discomfort, 
so  that  he  felt  unable  to  enjoy  the  piece,  and  left  ab- 
ruptly. Like  a  man  to  whom  comes  suddenly  the  hor- 
rible idea  that  the  match  he  lit  his  cigarette  with  and 
flung  into  the  waste-paper  basket  on  leaving  was  not 
really  out — a  sort  of  panic  distress — he  jumped  into  a 
taxicab  and  hurried  to  his  flat  to  find  everything  in  or- 
der, of  course ;  no  smoke,  no  fire,  no  smell  of  burning. 

But  his  evening  was  spoiled.  He  sat  smoking  in  his 
armchair  at  home,  this  business  man  of  forty,  practical 
in  mind,  of  character  some  called  stolid,  cursing  himself 
for  an  imaginative  fool.  It  was  now  too  late  to  go  back 
to  the  theater;  the  club  bored  him;  he  spent  an  hour 
with  the  evening  papers,  dipping  into  books,  sipping  a 
long  cool  drink,  doing  odds  and  ends  about  the  flat. 
"I'll  go  to  bed  early  for  a  change, "  he  laughed,  but 
really  all  the  time  fighting — yes,  deliberately  fighting — 
this  strange  attack  of  uneasiness  that  so  insidiously  grew 
upwards,  outwards  from  the  buried  depths  of  him  that 
sought  so  strenuously  to  deny  it.  It  never  occurred 
to  him  that  he  was  ill.  He  was  not  ill.  His  health  was 
thuncleringly  good.  He  was  as  robust  as  a  coal-heaver. 

The  flat  was  roomy,  high  up  on  the  top  floor,  yet  in 
a  busy  part  of  town,  so  that  the  roar  of  traffic  mounted 


26        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

round  it  like  a  sea.  Through  the  open  windows  came 
the  fresh  night  air  of  June.  He  had  never  noticed  be- 
fore how  sweet  the  London  night  air  could  be,  and  that 
not  all  the  smoke  and  dust  could  smother  a  certain  touch 
of  wild  fragrance  that  tinctured  it  with  perfume — yes, 
almost  perfume — as  of  the  country.  He  swallowed  a 
draught  of  it  as  he  stood  there,  staring  out  across  the 
tangled  world  of  roofs  and  chimney-pots.  He  saw  the 
procession  of  the  clouds;  he  saw  the  stars;  he  saw  the 
moonlight  falling  in  a  shower  of  silver  spears  upon  the 
slates  and  wires  and  steeples.  And  something  in  him 
quickened — something  that  had  never  stirred  before. 

He  turned  with  a  horrid  start,  for  the  uneasiness  had 
of  a  sudden  leaped  within  him  like  an  animal.  There 
was  some  one  in  the  flat. 

Instantly,  with  action — even  this  slight  action — the 
fancy  vanished;  but,  all  the  same,  he  switched  on  the 
electric  lights  'and  made  a  search.  For  it  seemed  to  him 
that  some  one  had  crept  up  close  behind  him  while  he 
stood  there  watching  the  night — some  one,  whose  silent 
presence  fingered  with  unerring  touch  both  this  new 
thing  that  had  quickened  in  his  heart  and  that  sense  of 
original  deep  uneasiness.  He  was  amazed  at  himself — 
angry — indignant  that  he  could  be  thus  foolishly  upset 
over  nothing,  yet  at  the  same  time  profoundly  dis- 
tressed at  this  vehement  growth  of  a  new  thing  in  his 
well-ordered  personality.  Growth?  He  dismissed  the 
word  the  moment  it  occurred  to  him — but  it  had  oc- 
curred to  him.  It  stayed.  While  he  searched  the 
empty  flat,  the  long  passages,  the  gloomy  bedroom  at 
the  end,  the  little  hall  where  he  kept  his  overcoats  and 
golf  sticks,  it  stayed.  Growth!  It  was  oddly  disquiet- 


THE  RETURN  27 

ing.  Growth  to  him  involved,  though  he  neither  ac- 
knowledged nor  recognized  the  truth  perhaps,  some  kind 
of  undesirable  changeableness,  instability,  unbalance. 

Yet  singular  as  it  all  was,  he  realized  that  the  un- 
easiness and  the  sudden  appreciation  of  beauty  that  was 
so  new  to  him  had  both  entered  by  the  same  door  into 
his  being.  When  he  came  back  to  the  front  room  he 
noticed  that  he  was  perspiring.  There  were  little  drops 
of  moisture  on  his  forehead.  And  down  his  spine  ran 
chills,  little,  faint  quivers  of  cold.  He  was  shivering. 

He  lit  his  big  meerschaum  pipe,  and  left  the  lights  all 
burning.  The  feeling  that  there  was  something  he  had 
overlooked,  forgotten,  left  undone,  had  vanished.  What- 
ever the  original  cause  of  this  absurd  uneasiness  might 
be — he  called  it  absurd  on  purpose  because  he  now  real- 
ized in  the  depths  of  him  that  it  was  really  more  vital 
than  he  cared  about — it  was  much  nearer  to  discovery 
than  before.  It  dodged  about  just  below  the  threshold 
of  discovery.  It  was  as  close  as  that.  Any  moment  he 
would  know  what  it  was ;  he  would  remember.  Yes,  he 
would  remember.  Meanwhile,  he  was  in  the  right  place. 
No  desire  to  go  elsewhere  afflicted  him,  as  in  the  theater. 
Here  was  the  place,  here  in  the  flat. 

And  then  it  was  with  a  kind  of  sudden  burst  and  rush 
• — it  seemed  to  him  the  only  way  to  phrase  it — memory 
gave  up  her  dead. 

At  first  he  only  caught  her  peeping  round  the  corner 
at  him,  drawing  aside  a  corner  of  an  enormous  curtain, 
as  it  were ;  striving  for  more  complete  entrance  as  though 
the  mass  of  it  were  difficult  to  move.  But  he  under- 
stood, he  knew,  he  recognized.  It  was  enough  for  that. 
As  an  entrance  into  his  being — heart,  mind,  soul — was 


28        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOKIES 

being  attempted  and  the  entrance  because  of  his  stolid 
temperament  was  difficult  of  accomplishment,  there  was 
effort,  strain.  Something  in  him  had  first  to  be  opened 
up,  widened,  made  soft  and  ready  as  by  an  operation, 
before  full  entrance  could  be  effected.  This  much  he 
grasped  though  for  the  life  of  him  he  could  not  have 
put  it  into  words.  Also  he  knew  who  it  was  that  sought 
an  entrance.  Deliberately  from  himself  he  withheld 
the  name.  But  he  knew  as  surely  as  though  Straughan 
stood  in  the  room  and  faced  him  with  a  knife  saying, 
"Let  me  in,  let  me  in.  I  wish  you  to  know  I'm  here. 
I  'm  clearing  a  way !  You  recall  our  promise  ? J ' 

He  rose  from  his  chair  and  went  to  the  open  window 
again,  the  strange  fear  slowly  passing.  The  cool  air 
fanned  his  cheeks.  Beauty  till  now  had  scarcely  ever 
brushed  the  surface  of  his  soul.  He  had  never  troubled 
his  head  about  it.  It  passed  him  by  indifferent;  and 
he  had  ever  loathed  the  mouthy  prating  of  it  on  others' 
lips.  He  was  practical;  beauty  was  for  dreamers,  for 
women,  for  men  who  had  means  and  leisure.  He  had 
not  exactly  scorned  it;  rather  it  had  never  touched  his 
life,  to  sweeten,  to  cheer,  to  uplift.  Artists  for  him 
were  like  monks — another  sex  almost — useless  beings 
who  never  helped  the  world  go  round.  He  was  for 
action  always,  work,  activity,  achievement  as  he  saw 
them.  He  remembered  Straughan  vaguely — Straughan, 
the  ever  impecunious  friend  of  his  youth,  always  talking 
of  color  and  sound — mysterious,  ineffectual  things.  He 
even  forgot  what  they  had  quarreled  about,  if  they 
had  quarreled  at  all  even;  or  why  they  had  gone  apart 
all  these  years  ago.  And  certainly  he  had  forgotten  any 
promise.  Memory  as  yet  only  peeped  at  him  round  the 


THE  EETUBN  29 

corner  of  that  huge  curtain  tentatively,  suggestively, 
yet — he  was  obliged  to  admit  it — somewhat  winningly. 
He  was  conscious  of  this  gentle,  sweet  seductiveness  that 
now  replaced  his  fear. 

And  as  he  stood  now  at  the  open  window  peering  over 
huge  London,  beauty  came  close  and  smote  him  between 
the  eyes.  She  came  blindingly,  with  her  train  of  stars 
and  clouds  and  perfumes.  Night,  mysterious,  myriad- 
eyed,  and  flaming  across  her  sea  of  haunted  shadows  in- 
vaded his  heart  and  shook  him  with  her  immemorial 
wonder  and  delight.  He  found  no  words  of  course  to 
clothe  the  new  unwonted  sensations.  He  only  knew 
that  all  his  former  dread,  uneasiness,  distress,  and  with 
them  this  idea  of  growth  that  had  seemed  so  repug- 
nant to  him  were  merged,  swept  up,  and  gathered 
magnificently  home  into  a  wave  of  beauty  that  envel- 
oped him.  "See  it,  and  understand,"  ran  a  secret 
inner  whisper  across  his  mind.  He  saw.  He  under- 
stood. .  .  . 

He  went  back  and  turned  the  lights  out.  Then  he 
took  his  place  again  at  that  open  window,  drinking  in 
the  night.  He  saw  a  new  world;  a  species  of  intoxi- 
cation held  him.  He  sighed,  as  his  thoughts  blundered 
for  expression  among  words  and  sentences  that  knew 
him  not.  But  the  delight  was  there,  the  wonder,  the 
mystery.  He  watched  with  heart  alternately  tighten- 
ing and  expanding  the  transfiguring  play  of  moon  and 
shadow w  over  the  sea  of  buildings.  He  saw  the  dance 
of  the  hurrying  clouds,  the  open  patches  into  outer 
space,  the  veiling  and  unveiling  of  that  ancient  silvery 
face ;  and  he  caught  strange  whispers  of  the  hierophan- 
tic,  sacerdotal  power  that  has  echoed  down  the  world 


30        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

since  Time  began  and  dropped  strange  magic  phrases 
into  every  poet's  heart,  since  first  "God  dawned  on 
Chaos"— the  Beauty  of  the  Night. 

A  long  time  passed — it  may  have  been  one  hour,  it 
may  have  been  three — when  at  length  he  turned  away 
and  went  slowly  to  his  bedroom.  A  deep  peace  lay  over 
him.  Something  quite  new  and  blessed  had  crept  into 
his  life  and  thought.  He  could  not  quite  understand  it 
all.  He  only  knew  that  it  uplifted.  There  was  no 
longer  the  least  sign  of  affliction  or  distress.  Even  the 
inevitable  reaction  that  set  in  could  not  destroy  that. 

And  then  as  he  lay  in  bed  nearing  the  borderland  of 
sleep,  suddenly  and  without  any  obvious  suggestion  to 
bring  it,  he  remembered  another  thing.  He  remembered 
the  promise.  Memory  got  past  the  big  curtain  for  an 
instant  and  showed  her  face.  She  looked  into  his  eyes. 
It  must  have  been  a  dozen  years  ago  when  Straughan 
and  he  had  made  that  foolish  solemn  promise,  that  who- 
ever died  first  should  show  himself  if  possible  to  the 
other. 

He  had  utterly  forgotten  it— till  now.  But  Straughan 
had  not  forgotten  it.  The  letter  came  three  weeks  later 
from  India.  That  very  evening  Straughan  had  died — 
at  nine  o'clock.  And  he  had  come  back — in  the  Beauty 
that  he  loved. 


THE  SECOND  GENERATION* 

BY  ALGERNON  BLACKWOOD 

SOMETIMES,   in  a  moment  of  sharp   experience, 
comes  that  vivid  flash  of  insight  that  makes  a  plati- 
tude suddenly  seem  «,  revelation — its  full  content 
is  abruptly  realized.    ' '  Ten  years  is  a  long  time,  yes, ' '  he 
thought,  as  he  walked  up  the  drive  to  the  great  Ken- 
sington house  where  she  still  lived. 

Ten  years — long  enough,  at  any  rate,  for  her  to  have 
married  and  for  her  husband  to  have  died.  More  than 
that  he  had  not  heard,  in  the  outlandish  places  where 
life  had  cast  him  in  the  interval.  He  wondered  whether 
there  had  been  any  children.  All  manner  of  thoughts 
and  questions,  confused  a  little,  passed  across  his  mind. 
He  was  well-to-do  now,  though  probably  his  entire  cap- 
ital did  not  amount  to  her  income  for  a  single  year. 
He  glanced  at  the  huge,  forbidding  mansion.  Yet  that 
pride  was  false  which  had  made  of  poverty  an  insuper- 
able obstacle.  He  saw  it  now.  He  had  learned  values 
in  his  long  exile. 

But  he  was  still  ridiculously  timid.  This  confusion 
of  thought,  of  mental  images  rather,  was  due  to  a  kind 
of  fear,  since  worship  ever  is  akin  to  awe.  He  was  as 
nervous  as  a  boy  going  up  for  a  viva  voce;  and  with 

*From  Ten-Minute  Stories,  published  by  E.  P.  Dutton  &  Co. 

31 


32        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

the  excitement  was  also  that  unconquerable  sinking — 
that  horrid  shrinking  sensation  that  excessive  shyness 
brings.  Why  in  the  world  had  he  come?  Why  had  he 
telegraphed  the  very  day  after  his  arrival  in  England? 
Why  had  he  not  sent  a  tentative,  tactful  letter,  feeling 
his  way  a  little? 

Very  slowly  he  walked  up  the  drive,  feeling  that  if  a 
reasonable  chance  of  escape  presented  itself  he  would 
almost  take  it.  But  all  the  windows  stared  so  hard  at 
him  that  retreat  was  really  impossible  now  and  though 
no  faces  were  visible  behind  the  curtains,  all  had  seen 
him,  possibly  she  herself — his  heart  beat  absurdly  at  the 
extravagant  suggestion.  Yet  it  was  odd — he  felt  so  cer- 
tain of  being  seen,  and  that  someone  watched  him.  He 
reached  the  wide  stone  steps  that  were  clean  as  marble, 
and  shrank  from  the  mark  his  boots  must  make  upon 
their  spotlessness.  In  desperation,  then,  before  he  could 
change  his  mind,  he  touched  the  bell.  But  he  did  not 
hear  it  ring — mercifully;  that  irrevocable  sound  must 
have  paralyzed  him  altogether.  If  no  one  came  to  an- 
swer, he  might  still  leave  a  card  in  the  letter-box  and 
slip  away.  Oh,  how  utterly  he  despised  himself  for 
such  a  thought!  A  man  of  thirty  with  such  a  chicken 
heart  was  not  fit  to  protect  a  child,  much  less  a  woman. 
And  he  recalled  with  a  little  stab  of  pain  that  the  man 
she  married  had  been  noted  for  his  courage,  his  deter- 
mined action,  his  inflexible  firmness  in  various  public 
situations,  head  and  shoulders  above  lesser  men.  What 
presumption  on  his  own  part  ever  to  dream  .  .  .  !  He 
remembered,  too,  with  no  apparent  reason  in  particular, 
that  this  man  had  a  grown-up  son  already,  by  a  former 
marriage. 


THE  SECOND  GENEKATION  33 

And  still  no  one  came  to  open  that  huge,  contemptu- 
ous door  with  its  so  menacing,  so  hostile  air.  His  back 
was  to  it,  as  he  carelessly  twirled  his  umbrella,  but  he 
felt  its  sneering  expression  behind  him  while  it  looked 
him  up  and  down.  It  seemed  to  push  him  away.  The 
entire  mansion  focused  its  message  through  that  stern 
portal :  Little  timid  men  are  not  welcomed  here. 

How  well  he  remembered  the  house!  How  often  in 
years  gone  by  had  he  not  stood  and  waited  just  like 
this,  trembling  with  delight  and  anticipation,  yet  terri- 
fied lest  the  bell  should  be  answered  and  the  great  door 
actually  swung  wide !  Then,  as  now,  he  would  have  run, 
had  he  dared.  He  was  still  afraid — his  worship  was  so 
deep.  But  in  all  these  years  of  exile  in  wild  places, 
farming,  mining,  working  for  the  position  he  had  at  last 
attained,  her  face  and  the  memory  of  her  gracious  pres- 
ence had  been  his  comfort  and  support,  his  only  consola- 
tion, though  never  his  actual  joy.  There  was  so  little 
foundation  for  it  all,  yet  her  smile  and  the  words  she  had 
spoken  to  him  from  time  to  time  in  friendly  conversa- 
tion had  clung,  inspired,  kept  him  going — for  he  knew 
them  all  by  heart.  And  more  than  once  in  foolish  op- 
timistic moods,  he  had  imagined,  greatly  daring,  that 
she  possibly  had  meant  more  .  .  . 

He  touched  the  bell  a  second  time — with  the  point  of 
his  umbrella.  He  meant  to  go  in,  carelessly  as  it  were, 
saying  as  lightly  as  might  be,  "Oh,  I'm  back  in  England 
again — if  you  haven't  quite  forgotten  my  existence — 
I  could  not  forego  the  pleasure  of  saying  'How-do-you- 
do?'  and  hearing  that  you  are  well  .  .  .  .,"  and  the 
rest;  then  presently  bow  himself  easily  out — into  the 
old  loneliness  again.  But  he  would  at  least  have  seen 


34        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

her ;  he  would  have  heard  her  voice,  and  looked  into  her 
gentle,  amber  eyes;  he  would  have  touched  her  hand. 
She  might  even  ask  him  to  come  in  another  day  and  see 
her!  He  had  rehearsed  it  all  a  hundred  times,  as  cer- 
tain feeble  temperaments  do  rehearse  such  scenes.  And 
he  came  rather  well  out  of  that  rehearsal,  though  always 
with  an  aching  heart,  the  old  great  yearnings  unful- 
filled. All  the  way  across  the  Atlantic  he  had  thought 
about  it,  though  with  lessening  confidence  as  the  time 
drew  near.  The  very  night  of  his  arrival  in  London 
he  wrote,  then,  tearing  up  the  letter  (after  sleeping  over 
it) ,  he  had  telegraphed  next  morning,  asking  if  she  would 
be  in.  He  signed  his  surname — such  a  very  common 
name,  alas!  but  surely  she  would  know — and  her  reply, 
"  Please  call  4:30,"  struck  him  as  rather  oddly  worded. 
Yet  here  he  was. 

There  was  a  rattle  of  the  big  door  knob,  that  aggres- 
sive, hostile  knob  that  thrust  out  at  him  insolently  like 
a  fist  of  bronze.  He  started,  angry  with  himself  for 
doing  so.  But  the  door  did  not  open.  He  became  sud- 
denly conscious  of  the  wilds  he  had  lived  in  for  so  long ; 
his  clothes  were  hardly  fashionable;  his  voice  probably 
had  a  twang  in  it,  and  he  used  tricks  of  speech  that  must 
betray  the  rough  life  so  recently  left.  What  would  she 
think  of  him,  now?  He  looked  much  older,  too.  And 
how  brusque  it  was  to  have  telegraphed  like  that !  He 
felt  awkward,  gauche,  tongue-tied,  hot  and  cold  by 
turns.  The  sentences,  so  carefully  rehearsed,  fled  be- 
yond recovery. 

Good  heavens — the  door  was  open !  It  had  been  open 
for  some  minutes. ,  It  moved  noiselessly  on  big  hinges. 
He  acted  automatically ;  he  heard  himself  asking  if  her 


THE  SECOND  GENERATION  35 

ladyship  was  at  home,  though  his  voice  was  nearly  in- 
audible. The  next  moment  he  was  standing  in  the 
great,  dim  hall,  so  poignantly  familiar,  and  the  remem- 
bered perfume  almost  made  him  sway.  He  did  not  hear 
the  door  close,  but  he  knew.  He  was  caught.  The  but- 
ler betrayed  an  instant's  surprise — or  was  it  over- 
wrought imagination  again? — when  he  gave  his  name. 
It  seemed  to  him — though  only  later  did  he  grasp  the 
significance  of  that  curious  intuition — that  the  man  had 
expected  another  caller  instead.  The  man  took  his  card 
respectfully  and  disappeared.  These  flunkeys  were  so 
marvellously  trained.  He  was  too  long  accustomed  to 
straight  question  and  straight  answer,  but  here,  in  the 
Old  Country,  privacy  was  jealously  guarded  with  such 
careful  ritual. 

And  almost  immediately  the  butler  returned,  still  ex- 
pressionless, and  showed  him  into  the  large  drawing- 
room  on  the  ground  floor  that  he  knew  so  well.  Tea  was 
on  the  table — tea  for  one.  He  felt  puzzled.  "If  you 
will  have  tea  first,  sir,  her  ladyship  will  see  you  after- 
wards," was  what  he  heard.  And  though  his  breath 
came  thickly,  he  asked  the  question  that  forced  itself 
out.  Before  he  knew  what  he  was  saying  he  asked  it, 
"Is  she  ill?"  "Oh,  no,  her  ladyship  is  quite  well, 
thank  you,  sir.  If  you  will  have  tea  first,  sir,  her  lady- 
ship will  see  you  afterwards."  The  horrid  formula 
was  repeated,  word  for  word.  He  sank  into  an  arm- 
chair and  mechanically  poured  out  his  own  tea.  What 
he  felt  he  did  not  exactly  know.  It  seemed  so  unusual, 
so  utterly  unexpected,  so  unnecessary,  too.  Was  it  a 
special  attention,  or  was  it  merely  casual?  That  it 
could  mean  anything  else  did  not  occur  to  him.  How 


36        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

was  she  busy,  occupied — not  here  to  give  him  tea?  He 
could  not  understand  it.  It  seemed  such  a  farce  having 
tea  alone  like  this — it  was  like  waiting  for  an  audience, 
it  was  like  a  doctor's  or  a  dentist's  room.  He  felt  be- 
wildered, ill  at  ease,  cheap.  .  .  .  But  after  ten  years  in 
primitive  lands  perhaps  London  usages  had  changed  in 
some  extraordinary  manner.  He  recalled  his  first 
amazement  at  the  motor-omnibuses,  taxicabs,  and  elec- 
tric tubes.  All  were  new.  London  was  otherwise  than 
when  he  left  it.  Piccadilly  and  the  Marble  Arch  them- 
selves had  altered.  And,  with  his  reflection,  a  shade 
more  confidence  stole  in.  She  knew  that  he  was  there 
and  presently  she  would  come  in  and  speak  with  him, 
explaining  everything  by  the  mere  fact  of  her  delicious 
presence.  He  was  ready  for  the  ordeal,  he  would  see 
her — and  drop  out  again.  It  was  worth  all  manner  of 
pain,  even  of  mortification.  He  was  in  her  house,  drink- 
ing her  tea,  sitting  in  a  chair  she  used  herself  perhaps. 
Only  he  would  never  dare  to  say  a  word  or  make  a  sign 
that  might  betray  his  changeless  secret.  He  still  felt 
the  boyish  worshipper,  worshipping  in  dumbness  from  a 
distance,  one  of  a  group  of  many  others  like  himself. 
Their  dreams  had  faded,  his  had  continued,  that  was 
the  difference.  Memories  tore  and  raced  and  poured 
upon  him.  How  sweet  and  gentle  she  had  always  been 
to  him!  He  used  to  wonder  sometimes  .  .  .  Once,  IIP 
remembered,  he  had  rehearsed  a  declaration,  but  whilo 
rehearsing  the  big  man  had  come  in  and  captured  her, 
though  he  had  only  read  the  definite  news  long  after  by 
chance  in  an  Arizona  paper. 

He  gulped  his  tea  down.     His  heart  alternately  leaped 
and  stood  still.     A  sort  of  numbness  held  him  most  of 


THE  SECOND  GENERATION  37 

that  dreadful  interval,  and  no  clear  thought  came  at  all. 
Every  ten  seconds  his  head  turned  towards  the  door 
that  rattled,  seemed  to  move,  yet  never  opened.  But 
any  moment  now  it  must  open,  and  he  would  be  in  her 
very  presence,  breathing  the  same  air  with  her.  He 
would  see  her,  charge  himself  with  her  beauty  once  more 
to  the  brim,  and  then  go  out  again  into  the  wilderness 
— the  wilderness  of  life — without  her,  and  not  for  a 
mere  ten  years  but  for  always.  She  was  so  utterly  be- 
yond his  reach.  He  felt  like  a  backwoodsman,  he  was 
a  backwoodsman. 

For  one  thing  only  was  he  duly  prepared,  though  he 
thought  about  it  little  enough — she  would,  of  course, 
have  changed.  The  photograph  he  owned,  cut  from  an 
illustrated  paper,  was  not  true  now.  It  might  even  be 
a  little  shock  perhaps.  He  must  remember  that.  Ten 
years  cannot  pass  over  a  woman  without — 

Before  he  knew  it  the  door  was  open,  and  she  was 
advancing  quietly  towards  him  across  the  thick  carpet 
that  deadened  sound.  With  both  hands  outstretched 
she  came,  and  with  the  sweetest  welcoming  smile  upon 
her  parted  lips  he  had  seen  in  any  human  face.  Her 
eyes  were  soft  with  joy.  His  whole  heart  leaped  within 
him;  for  the  instant  he  saw  her  it  all  flashed  clear  as 
sunlight — that  she  knew  and  understood.  She  had  al- 
ways known,  had  always  understood.  Speech  came 
easily  to  him  in  a  flood,  had  he  needed  it,  but  he  did  not 
need  it.  It  was  all  so  adorably  easy,  simple,  natural, 
and  true.  He  just  took  her  hands — those  welcoming, 
outstretched  hands — in  both  of  his  own,  and  led  her  to 
the  nearest  sofa.  He  was  not  even  surprised  at  him- 
self. Inevitably,  out  of  depths  of  truth,  this  meeting 


38        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

came  about.  And  he  uttered  a  little  foolish  common- 
place, because  he  feared  the  huge  revulsion  that  his  sud- 
den glory  brought,  and  loved  to  taste  it  slowly : 

"So  you  live  here  still ?" 

"Here,  and  here,"  she  answered  softly,  touching  his 
heart,  and  then  her  own.  ' '  I  am  attached  to  this  house, 
too,  because  you  used  to  come  and  see  me  here,  and  be- 
cause it  was  here  I  waited  so  long  for  you,  and  still 
wait.  I  shall  never  leave  it — unless  you  change.  You 
see,  we  live  together  here." 

He  said  nothing.  He  leaned  forward  to  take  and  hold 
her.  The  abrupt  knowledge  of  it  all  somehow  did  not 
seem  abrupt — it  was  as  though  he  had  known  it  always ; 
and  the  complete  disclosure  did  not  seem  disclosure 
either — rather  as  though  she  told  him  something  he  had 
inexplicably  left  unrealized,  yet  not  forgotten.  He  felt 
absolutely  master  of  himself,  yet,  in  a  curious  sense, 
outside  of  himself  at  the  same  time.  His  arms  were 
already  open — when  she  gently  held  her  hands  up 
to  prevent.  He  heard  a  faint  sound  outside  the 
door. 

"But  you  are  free,"  he  cried,  his  great  passion  break- 
ing out  and  flooding  him,  yet  most  oddly  well  controlled, 
"and  I—" 

She  interrupted  him  in  the  softest,  quietest  whisper 
he  had  ever  heard: 

*  *  You  are  not  free,  as  I  am  free — not  yet. ' ' 

The  sound  outside  came  suddenly  closer.  It  was  a 
step.  There  was  a  faint  click  on  the  handle  of  the  door. 
In  a  flash,  then,  came  the  dreadful  shock  that  over- 
whelmed him — the  abrupt  realization  of  the  truth  that 
was  somehow  horrible — that  Time,  all  these  years,  had 


THE  SECOND  GENERATION  39 

left  no  mark  upon  her  and  that  she  had  not  changed. 
Her  face  was  as  young  as  when  he  saw  her  last. 

With  it  there  came  cold  and  darkness  into  the  great 
room.  He  shivered  with  cold,  but  an  alien,  unaccount- 
able cold.  Some  great  shadow  dropped  upon  the  entire 
earth,  and  though  but  a  second  could  have  passed  before 
the  handle  actually  turned,  and  the  other  person  en- 
tered, it  seemed  to  him  like  several  minutes.  He  heard 
her  saying  this  amazing  thing  that  was  question,  an- 
swer, and  forgiveness  all  in  one — this,  at  least,  he  divined 
before  the  ghastly  interruption  came — "But,  George — 
if  you  had  only  spoken — !" 

With  ice  in  his  blood  he  heard  the  butler  saying  that 
her  ladyship  would  be  " pleased"  to  see  him  if  he  had 
finished  his  tea  and  would  be  "so  good  as  to  bring  the 
papers  and  documents  upstairs  with  him."  He  had 
just  sufficient  control  of  certain  muscles  to  stand  up- 
right and  murmur  that  he  would  come.  He  rose  from 
a  sofa  that  held  no  one  but  himself.  All  at  once  he 
staggered.  He  really  did  not  know  exactly  what  hap- 
pened, or  how  he  managed  to  stammer  out  the  medley 
of  excuses  and  semi-explanations  that  battered  their 
way  through  his  brain  and  issued  somehow  in  definite 
words  from  his  lips.  Somehow  or  other  he  accomplished 
it.  The  sudden  attack,  the  faintness,  the  collapse!  .  .  . 
He  vaguely  remembered  afterwards — with  amazement 
too — the  suavity  of  the  butler  as  he  suggested  tele- 
phoning for  a  doctor,  and  that  he  just  managed  to  for- 
bid it,  refusing  the  offered  glass  of  brandy  as  well, 
remembered  contriving  to  stumble  into  the  taxicab  and 
give  his  hotel  address  with  a  final  explanation  that  he 
would  call  another  day  and  "bring  the  papers."  It 


40        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

was  quite  clear  that  his  telegram  had  been  attributed  to 
someone  else,  someone  "with  papers" — perhaps  a  solici- 
tor or  architect.  His  name  was  such  an  ordinary  one, 
there  were  so  many  Smiths.  It  was  also  clear  that  she 
whom  he  had  come  to  see  and  had  seen,  no  longer  lived 
here  in  the  flesh  .  .  . 

And  just  as  he  left  the  hall  he  had  the  vision — mere 
fleeting  glimpse  it  was — of  a  tall,  slim,  girlish  figure  on 
the  stairs  asking  if  anything  was  wrong,  and  realized 
vaguely  through  his  atrocious  pain  that  she  was,  of 
course,  the  wife  of  the  son  who  had  inherited  .  .  . 


JOSEPH:    A  STORY 
BY  KATHERINE  EICKFORD 

THEY  were  sitting  round  the  fire  after  dinner — 
not  an  ordinary  fire — one  of  those  fires  that  has 
a  little  room  all  to  itself  with  seats  at  each  side 
of  it  to  hold  a  couple  of  people  or  three. 

The  big  dining  room  was  paneled  with  oak.  At  the 
far  end  was  a  handsome  dresser  that  dated  back  for 
generations.  One's  imagination  ran  riot  when  one  pic- 
tured the  people  who  must  have  laid  those  pewter  plates 
on  the  long,  narrow,  solid  table.  Massive  medieval 
chests  stood  against  the  walls.  Arms  and  parts  of  armor 
hung  against  the  panelling;  but  one  noticed  few  of 
these  things,  for  there  was  no  light  in  the  room  save 
what  the  fire  gave. 

It  was  Christmas  Eve.  Games  h#d  been  played.  The 
old  had  vied  with  the  young  at  snatching  raisins  from 
the  burning  snapdragon.  The  children  had  long  since 
gone  to  bed ;  it  was  time  their  elders  followed  them,  but 
they  lingered  round  the  fire,  taking  turns  at  telling 
stories.  Nothing  very  weird  had  been  told;  no  one 
had  felt  any  wish  to  peep  over  his  shoulder  or  try  to 
penetrate  the  darkness  of  the  far  end  of  the  room;  the 
omission  caused  a  sensation  of  something  wanting.  From 
each  one  there  this  thought  went  out,  and  so  a  sudden 

41 


42        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

silence  fell  upon  the  party.  It  was  a  girl  who  broke  it 
— a  mere  child ;  she  wore  her  hair  up  that  night  for  the 
first  time,  and  that  seemed  to  give  her  the  right  to  sit 
up  so  late. 

"Mr.  Grady  is  going  to  tell  one,"  she  said. 

All  eyes  were  turned  to  a  middle-aged  man  in  a  deep 
armchair  placed  straight  in  front  of  the  fire.  He  was 
short,  inclined  to  be  fat,  with  a  bald  head  and  a  pointed 
beard  like  the  beards  that  sailors  wear.  It  was  plain 
that  he  was  deeply  conscious  of  the  sudden  turning  of 
so  much  strained  yet  forceful  thought  upon  himself. 
He  was  restless  in  his  chair  as  people  are  in  a  room  that 
is  overheated.  He  blinked  his  eyes  as  he  looked  round 
the  company.  His  lips  twitched  in  a  nervous  manner. 
One  side  of  him  seemed  to  be  endeavoring  to  restrain 
another  side  of  him  from  a  feverish  desire  to  speak. 

"It  was  this  room  that  made  me  think  of  him,'*  he 
said  thoughtfully. 

There  was  a  long  silence,  but  it  occurred  to  no  one 
to  prompt  him.  Every  one  seemed  to  understand  that 
he  was  going  to  speak,  or  rather  that  something  inside 
him  was  going  to  speak,  some  force  that  craved  expres- 
sion and  was  using  him  as  a  medium. 

The  little  old  man's  pink  face  grew  strangely  calm, 
the  animation  that  usually  lit  it  was  gone.  One  would 
have  said  that  the  girl  who  had  started  him  already 
regretted  the  impulse,  and  now  wanted  to  stop  him. 
She  was  breathing  heavily,  and  once  or  twice  made  as 
though  she  would  speak  to  him,  but  no  words  came. 
She  must  have  abandoned  the  idea,  for  she  fell  to  study- 
ing the  company.  She  examined  them  carefully,  one 
by  one.  ''This  one,"  she  told  herself,  "is  so-and-so, 


JOSEPH:  A  STORY  43 

and  that  one  there  just  another  so-and-so/'  She  stared 
at  them,  knowing  that  she  could  not  turn  them  to  her- 
self with  her  stare.  They  were  just  bodies  kept  work- 
ing, so  to  speak,  by  some  subtle  sort  of  sentry  left  be- 
hind by  the  real  selves  that  streamed  out  in  pent-up 
thought  to  the  little  old  man  in  the  chair  in  front  of 
the  fire. 

"His  name  was  Joseph;  at  least  they  Called  him 
Joseph.  He  dreamed,  you  understand — dreams.  He 
was  an  extraordinary  lad  in  many  ways.  His  mother — 
I  knew  her  very  well — had  three  children  in  quick  suc- 
cession, soon  after  marriage;  then  ten  years  went  by 
and  Joseph  was  born.  Quiet  and  reserved  he  always  was, 
a  self-contained  child  whose  only  friend  was  his  mother. 
People  said  things  about  him,  you  know  how  people 
talk.  Some  said  he  was  not  Clara's  child  at  all,  but 
that  she  had  adopted  him ;  others,  that  her  husband  was 
not  his  father,  and  these  put  her  change  of  manner 
down  to  a  perpetual  struggle  to  keep  her  husband  com- 
fortably in  the  dark.  I  always  imagined  that  the  boy 
was  in  some  way  aware  of  all  this  gossip,  for  I  noticed 
that  he  took  a  dislike  to  the  people  who  spread  it  most." 

The  little  man  rested  his  elbows  on  the  arms  of  his 
chair  and  let  the  tips  of  his  fingers  meet  in  front  of 
him.  A  smile  played  about  his  mouth.  He  seemed  to 
be  searching  among  his  reminiscences  for  the  one  that 
would  give  the  clearest  portrait  of  Joseph. 

"Well,  anyway,"  he  said  at  last,  "the  boy  was  odd, 
there  is  no  gainsaying  the  fact.  I  suppose  he  was  eleven 
when  Clara  came  down  here  with  her  family  for  Christ- 
mas. The  Coningtons  owned  the  place  then — Mrs.  Con- 
ington  was  Clara's  sister.  It  was  Christmas  Eve,  as  it 


44        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

is  now,  many  years  ago.  We  had  spent  a  normal  Christ- 
mas Eve;  a  little  happier,  perhaps,  than  usual  by  rea- 
son of  the  family  re-union  and  because  of  the  presence 
of  so  many  children.  We  had  eaten  and  drank,  laughed 
and  played  and  gone  to  bed. 

1  'I  woke  in  the  middle  of  the  night  from  sheer  rest- 
lessness. Clara,  knowing  my  weakness,  had  given  me  a 
fire  in  my  room.  I  lit  a  cigarette,  played  with  a  book, 
and  then,  purely  from  curiosity,  opened  the  door  and 
looked  down  the  passage.  From  my  door  I  could  see 
the  head  of  the  staircase  in  the  distance;  the  opposite 
wing  of  the  house,  or  the  passage  rather  beyond  the 
stairs,  was  in  darkness.  The  reason  I  saw  the  staircase 
at  all  was  that  the  window  you  pass  coming  downstairs 
allowed  the  moon  to  throw  an  uncertain  light  upon  it, 
a  weird  light  because  of  the  stained  glass.  I  was  ar- 
rested by  the  curious  effect  of  this  patch  of  light  in  so 
much  darkness  when  suddenly  someone  came  into  it, 
turned,  and  went  downstairs.  It  was  just  like  a  scene 
in  a  theater ;  something  was  about  to  happen  that  I  was 
going  to  miss.  I  ran  as  I  was,  barefooted,  to  the  head 
of  the  stairs  and  looked  over  the  banister.  I  was  ex- 
cited, strung  up,  too  strung  up  to  feel  the  fright  that  1 
knew  must  be  with  me.  I  remember  the  sensation  per- 
fectly. I  knew  that  I  was  afraid,  yet  I  did  not  feel 
fright. 

"On  the  stairs  nothing  moved.  The  little  hall  down 
here  was  lost  in  darkness.  Looking  over  the  banister  I 
was  facing  the  stained  glass  window.  You  know  how 
the  stairs  run  around  three  sides  of  the  hall;  well,  it 
occurred  to  me  that  if  I  went  halfway  down  and  stood 
under  the  window  I  should  be  able  to  keep  the  top  of 


JOSEPH:  A  STOEY  45 

the  stairs  in  sight  and  see  anything  that  might  happen 
in  the  hall.  I  crept  down  very  cautiously  and  waited 
under  the  window.  First  of  all,  I  saw  the  suit  of  empty 
armor  just  outside  the  door  here.  You  know  how  a 
thing  like  that,  if  you  stare  at  it  in  a  poor  light,  appears 
to  move;  well,  it  moved  sure  enough,  and  the  illusion 
was  enhanced  by  clouds  being  blown  across  the  moon. 
By  the  fire  like  this  one  can  talk  of  these  things  ra- 
tionally, but  in  the  dead  of  night  it  is  a  different  matter, 
so  I  went  down  a  few  steps  to  make  sure  of  that  armor, 
when  suddenly  something  passed  me  on  the  stairs.  I 
did  not  hear  it,  I  did  not  see  it,  I  sensed  it  in  no  way, 
I  just  knew  that  something  had  passed  me  on  its  way 
upstairs.  I  realized  that  my  retreat  was  cut  off,  and 
with  the  knowledge  fear  came  upon  me. 

"I  had  seen  someone  come  down  the  stairs;  that,  at 
any  rate,  was  definite;  now  I  wanted  to  see  him  again. 
Any  ghost  is  bad  enough,  but  a  ghost  that  one  can  see 
is  better  than  one  that  one  can't.  I  managed  to  get 
past  the  suit  of  armor,  but  then  I  had  to  feel  my  way 
to  these  double  doors  here." 

He  indicated  the  direction  of  the  doors  by  a  curious 
wave  of  his  hand.  He  did  not  look  toward  them  nor 
did  any  of  the  party.  Both  men  and  women  were  com- 
pletely absorbed  in  his  story;  they  seemed  to  be  mes- 
merized by  the  earnestness  of  his  manner.  Only  the 
girl  was  restless;  she  gave  an  impression  of  impatience 
with  the  slowness  with  which  he  came  to  his  point.  One 
would  have  said  that  she  was  apart  from  her  fellows,  an 
alien  among  strangers. 

"So  dense  was  the  darkness  that  I  made  sure  of  find- 
ing the  first  door  closed,  but  it  was  not,  it  was  wide 


46        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

open,  and,  standing  between  them,  I  could  feel  that  the 
other  was  open,  too.  I  was  standing  literally  in  the  wall 
of  the  house,  and  as  I  peered  into  the  room,  trying  to 
make  out  some  familiar  object,  thoughts  ran  through 
my  mind  of  people  who  had  been  bricked  up  in  walls 
and  left  there  to  die.  For  a  moment  I  caught  the  spirit 
of  the  inside  of  a  thick  wall.  Then  suddenly  I  felt  the 
sensation  I  have  often  read  about  but  never  experienced 
before:  I  knew  there  was  some  one  in  the  room.  You 
are  surprised,  yes,  but  wait !  I  knew  more :  I  knew  that 
that  some  one  was  conscious  of  my  presence.  It  occurred 
to  me  that  whoever  it  was  might  want  to  get  out  of  the 
door.  I  made  room  for  him  to  pass.  I  waited  for  him, 
made  sure  of  him,  began  to  feel  giddy,  and  then  a  man's 
voice,  deep  and  clear: 

"  *  There  is  some  one  there;  who  is  it?' 

"I  answered  mechanically,  'George  Grady.' 

"  '  I'm  Joseph.' 

"A  match  was  drawn  across  a  matchbox,  and  I  saw 
the  boy  bending  over  a  candle  waiting  for  the  wick  to 
catch.  For  a  moment  I  thought  he  must  be  walking  in 
his  sleep,  but  he  turned  to  me  quite  naturally  and  said 
in  his  own  boyish  voice: 

"  'Lost  anything?' 

"I  was  amazed  at  the  lad's  complete  calm.  I  wanted 
to  share  my  fright  with  some  one,  instead  I  had  to  hide 
it  from  this  boy.  I  was  conscious  of  a  curious  sense  of 
shame.  I  had  watched  him  grow,  taught  him,  praised 
him,  scolded  him,  and  yet  here  he  was  waiting  for  an 
explanation  of  my  presence  in  the  dining  room  at  that 
odd  hour  of  the  night. 

"Soon  he  repeated  the  question,  'Lost  anything?' 


JOSEPH:  A  STOEY  47 

"  'No,'  I  said,  and  then  I  stammered,  'Have  yon?' 

"  'No/  he  said  with  a  little  laugh.  'It's  that  room, 
I  can't  sleep  in  it.' 

"  'Oh,'  I  said.    'What's  the  matter  with  the  room?' 

"  '  It 's  the  room  I  was  killed  in, '  he  said  quite  simply. 

"Of  course  I  had  heard  about  his  dreams,  but  I  had 
had  no  direct  experience  of  them;  when,  therefore,  he 
said  that  he  had  been  killed  in  his  room  I  took  it  for 
granted  that  he  had  been  dreaming  again.  I  was  at  a 
loss  to  know  quite  how  to  tackle  him;  whether  to  treat 
the  whole  thing  as  absurd  and  laugh  it  off  as  such,  or 
whether  to  humor  him  and  hear  his  story.  I  got  him 
upstairs  to  my  room,  sat  him  in  a  big  armchair,  and 
poked  the  fire  into  a  blaze. 

"  'You've  been  dreaming  again,'  I  said  bluntly. 

"  'Oh,  no  I  haven't.  Don't  you  run  away  with  that 
idea.' 

' '  His  whole  manner  was  so  grown  up  that  it  was  quite 
unthinkable  to  treat  him  as  the  child  he  really  was.  In 
fact,  it  was  a  little  uncanny,  this  man  in  a  child's 
frame. 

"  'I  was  killed  there,'  he  said  again. 

"  'How  do  you  mean,  killed?'  I  asked  him. 

"  'Why,  killed — murdered.  Of  course  it  was  years 
and  years  ago,  I  can't  say  when;  still  I  remember  the 
room.  I  suppose  it  was  the  room  that  reminded  me  of 
the  incident.' 

"  'Incident?'  I  exclaimed. 

"  'What  else?  Being  killed  is  only  an  incident  in  the 
existence  of  any  one.  One  makes  a  fuss  about  it  at  the 
time,  of  course,  but  really  when  you  come  to  think  of 
it  .  .' 


48        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

"  'Tell  me  about  it,'  I  said,  lighting  a  cigarette.  He 
lit  one  too,  that  child,  and  began. 

"  'You  know  my  room  is  the  only  modern  one  in  this 
old  house.  Nobody  knows  why  it  is  modern.  The  rea- 
son is  obvious.  Of  course  it  was  made  modern  after 
I  was  killed  there.  The  funny  thing  is  that  I  should 
have  been  put  there.  I  suppose  it  was.  done  for  a  pur- 
pose, because  I — I ' 

"He  looked  at  me  so  fixedly  I  knew  he  would  catch 
me  if  I  lied. 

"'  What  ?'  I  asked. 

"  'Dream.' 

"  'Yes,'  I  said,  'that  is  why  you  were  put  there.' 

"  'I  thought  so,  and  yet  of  all  the  rooms — but  then, 
of  course,  no  one  knew.  Anyhow  I  did  not  recognize 
the  room  until  after  I  was  in  bed.  I  had  been  asleep 
some  time  and  then  I  woke  suddenly.  There  is  an  old 
wheel-back  chair  there — the  only  old  thing  in  the  room. 
It  is  standing  facing  the  fire  as  it  must  have  stood  the 
night  I  was  killed.  The  fire  was  burning  brightly,  the 
pattern  of  the  back  of  the  chair  was  thrown  in  shadow 
across  the  ceiling.  Now  the  night  I  was  murdered  the 
conditions  were  exactly  the  same,  so  directly  I  saw  that 
pattern  on  the  ceiling  I  remembered  the  whole  thing.  I 
was  not  dreaming,  don 't  think  it,  I  was  not.  What  hap- 
pened that  night  was  this :  I  was  lying  in  bed  counting 
the  parts  of  the  back  of  that  chair  in  shadow  on  the 
ceiling.  I  probably  could  not  get  to  sleep,  you  know  the 
sort  of  thing,  count  up  to  a  thousand  and  remember 
in  the  morning  where  you  got  to.  Well,  I  was  counting 
those  pieces  when  suddenly  they  were  all  obliterated, 
the  whole  back  beca^p  a  shadow,  some  one  was  sitting 


JOSEPH:  A  STORY  49 

in  the  chair.  Now,  surely,  you  understand  that  directly 
I  saw  the  shadow  of  that  chair  on  the  ceiling  to-night 
I  realized  that  I  had  not  a  moment  to  lose.  At  any  mo- 
ment that  same  person  might  come  back  to  that  same 
chair  and  escape  would  be  impossible.  I  slipped  from 
my  bed  as  quickly  as  I  could  and  ran  downstairs.' 

"  'But  were  you  not  afraid,'  I  asked,  'downstairs?' 

"  'That  she  might  follow  me?  It  was  a  woman,  you 
know.  No,  I  don't  think  I  was.  She  does  not  belong 
downstairs.  Anyhow  she  didn't.' 

"'No,' I  said.    'No.' 

"My  voice  must  have  been  out  of  control,  for  he 
caught  me  up  at  once. 

"  'You  don't  mean  to  say  you  saw  her?'  he  said  ve- 
hemently. 

"  'Oh,  no/ 

'"You  felt  her?' 

"  'She  passed  me  as  I  came  downstairs,'  I  said. 

"  'What  can  I  have  done  to  her  that  she  follows  me 
so?'  He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  as  though  search- 
ing for  an  answer  to  his  thought.  Suddenly  he  looked 
up  and  stared  at  me. 

"  'Where  had  I  got  to?  Oh  yes,  the  murder.  I  can 
remember  how  startled  I  was  to  see  that  shadow  in  the 
chair — startled,  you  know,  but  not  really  frightened. 
I  leaned  up  in  bed  and  looked  at  the  chair,  and  sure 
enough  a  woman  was  sitting  in  it — a  young  woman.  I 
watched  her  with  a  profound  interest  until  she  began 
to  turn  in  her  chair,  as  I  felt,  to  look  at  me;  when  she 
did  that  I  shrank  back  in  bed.  I  dared  not  meet  her 
eyes.  She  might  not  have  had  eyes,  she  might  not  have 
had  a  face.  You  know  the  sort  of  pictures  that  one  sees 


50        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

when  one  glances  back  at  all  one 's  soul  has  ever  thought. 

"  'I  got  back  in  the  bed  as  far  as  I  could  and  peeped 
over  the  sheets  at  the  shadow  on  the  ceiling.  I  was 
tired;  frightened  to  death;  I  grew  weary  of  watching. 
I  must  have  fallen  asleep,  for  suddenly  the  fire  was  al- 
most out,  the  pattern  of  the  chair  barely  discernible, 
the  shadow  had  gone.  I  raised  myself  with  a  sense  of 
huge  relief.  Yes,  the  chair  was  empty,  but,  just  think 
of  it,  the  woman  was  on  the  floor,  on  her  hands  and 
knees,  crawling  toward  the  bed. 

1 '  '  I  fell  back  stricken  with  terror. 

"  'Very  soon  I  felt  a  gentle  pull  at  the  counterpane. 
I  thought  I  was  in  a  nightmare  but  too  lazy  or  too  com- 
fortable to  try  to  wake  myself  from  it.  I  waited  in  an 
agony  of  suspense,  but  nothing  seemed  to  be  happening, 
in  fact  I  had  just  persuaded  myself  that  the  movement 
of  the  counterpane  was  fancy  when  a  hand  brushed 
softly  over  my  knee.  There  was  no  mistaking  it,  I  could 
feel  the  long,  thin  fingers.  Now  was  the  time  to  do 
something.  I  tried  to  rouse  myself,  but  all  my  efforts 
were  futile,  I  was  stiff  from  head  to  foot. 

"  'Although  the  hand  was  lost  to  me,  outwardly,  it 
now  came  within  my  range  of  knowledge,  if  you  know 
what  I  mean.  I  knew  that  it  was  groping  its  way  along 
the  bed  feeling  for  some  other  part  of  me.  At  any  mo- 
ment I  could  have  said  exactly  where  it  had  got  to.  When 
it  was  hovering  just  over  my  chest  another  hand  knocked 
lightly  against  my  shoulder.  I  fancied  it  lost,  and  wan- 
dering in  search  of  its  fellow. 

"  '  I  was  lying  on  my  back  staring  at  the  ceiling  when 
the  hands  met;  the  weight  of  their  presence  brought  a 
feeling  of  oppression  to  my  chest.  I  seemed  to  be  com- 


JOSEPH:  A  STORY  51 

pletely  cut  off  from  my  body;  I  had  no  sort  of  connec- 
tion with  any  part  of  it,  nothing  about  me  would  re- 
spond to  my  will  to  make  it  move. 

"  'There  was  no  sound  at  all  anywhere. 

"  '  I  fell  into  a  state  of  indifference,  a  sort  of  patient 
indifference  that  can  wait  for  an  appointed  time  to  come. 
How  long  I  waited  I  cannot  say,  but  when  the  time 
came  it  found  me  ready.  I  was  not  taken  by  surprise. 

"  'There  was  a  great  upward  rush  of  pent-up  force 
released;  it  was  like  a  mighty  mass  of  men  who  have 
been  lost  in  prayer  rising  to  their  feet.  I  can't  remem- 
ber clearly,  but  I  think  the  woman  must  have  got  on  to 
my  bed.  I  could  not  follow  her  distinctly,  my  whole 
attention  was  concentrated  on  her  hands.  At  the  time 
I  felt  those  fingers  itching  for  my  throat. 

11  'At  last  they  moved;  slowly  at  first,  then  quicker; 
and  then  a  long-drawn  swish  like  the  sound  of  an  over- 
bold wave  that  has  broken  too  far  up  the  beach  and  is 
sweeping  back  to  join  the  sea.' 

"The  boy  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  he  stretched 
out  his  hand  for  the  cigarettes. 

"  'You  remember  nothing  else?'  I  asked  him. 

"  'No,'  he  said.  'The  next  thing  I  remember  clearly 
is  deliberately  breaking  the  nursery  window  because  it 
was  raining  and  mother  would  not  let  me  go  out. '  ' 

There  was  a  moment's  tension,  then  the  strain  of  lis- 
tening passed  and  every  one  seemed  to  be  speaking  at 
once.  The  Rector  was  taking  the  story  seriously. 

"Tell  me,  Grady,"  he  said.  "How  long  do  you  sup- 
pose elapsed  between  the  boy's  murder  and  his  breaking 
the  nursery  window?" 

But  a  young  married  woman  in  the  first  flush  of  her 


52        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

happiness  broke  in  between  them.  She  ridiculed  the 
whole  idea.  Of  course  the  boy  was  dreaming.  She  was 
drawing  the  majority  to  her  way  of  thinking  when, 
from  the  corner  where  the  girl  sat,  a  hollow-sounding 
voice : 

1 '  And  the  boy  ?    Where  is  he  ? ' ' 

The  tone  of  the  girl's  voice  inspired  horror,  that  fear 
that  does  not  know  what  it  is  it  fears;  one  could  see  it 
on  every  face ;  on  every  face,  that  is,  but  the  face  of  the 
bald-headed  little  man ;  there  was  no  horror  on  his  face ; 
he  was  smiling  serenely  as  he  looked  the  girl  straight  in 
the  eyes. 

"He's  a  man  now,"  he  said. 

"Alive?"  she  cried. 

"Why  not?"  said  the  little  old  man,  rubbing  his 
hands  together. 

She  tried  to  rise,  but  her  frock  had  got  caught  be- 
tween the  chairs  and  pulled  her  to  her  seat  again.  The 
man  next  her  put  out  his  hand  to  steady  her,  but  she 
dashed  it  away  roughly.  She  looked  round  the  party 
for  an  instant  for  all  the  world  like  an  animal  at  bay, 
then  she  sprang  to  her  feet  and  charged  blindly.  They 
crowded  round  her  to  prevent  her  falling;  at  the  touch 
of  their  hands  she  stopped.  She  was  out  of  breath  as 
though  she  had  been  running. 

"All  right,"  she  said,  pushing  their  hands  from  her. 
"All  right.  I'll  come  quietly.  I  did  it." 

They  caught  her  as  she  fell  and  laid  her  on  the  sofa 
watching  the  color  fade  from  her  face. 

The  hostess,  an  old  woman  with  white  hair  and  a  kind 
face,  approached  the  little  old  man ;  for  once  in  her  life 
she  was  roused  to  anger. 


JOSEPH:  A  STOEY  53 

"I  can't  think  how  you  could  be  so  stupid,"  she  said. 
"See  what  you  have  done." 

"I  did  it  for  a  purpose,"  he  said. 

"For  a  purpose?" 

"I  have  always  thought  that  girl  was  the  culprit.  I 
have  to  thank  you  for  the  opportunity  you  have  given 
me  of  making  sure." 


THE  CLAVECIN,  BRUGES* 

BY  GEORGE  WHARTON   EDWARDS 

A  SILENT,    grass-grown   market-place,    upon   the 
uneven  stones  of  which  the  sabots  of  a  passing 
peasant  clatter  loudly.     A  group  of  sleepy-look- 
ing soldiers  in  red  trousers  lolling  about  the  wide  portal 
of  the  Belfry,  which  rears  aloft  against  the  pearly  sky 

All  the  height  it  has 
Of  ancient  stone. 

As  the  chime  ceases  there  lingers  for  a  space  a  faint 
musical  hum  in  the  air;  the  stones  seem  to  carry  and 
retain  the  melody ;  one  is  loath  to  move  for  fear  of  losing 
some  part  of  the  harmony. 

I  feel  an  indescribable  impulse  to  climb  the  four  hun- 
dred odd  steps;  incomprehensible,  for  I  detest  steeple- 
climbing,  and  have  no  patience  with  steeple-climbers. 

Before  I  realize  it,  I  am  at  the  stairs.  "Hold,  sir!" 
from  behind  me.  "It  is  forbidden."  In  wretched 
French  a  weazen-faced  little  soldier  explains  that  repairs 
are  about  to  be  made  in  the  tower,  in  consequence  of 
which  visitors  are  forbidden.  A  franc  removes  this  mil- 
itary obstacle,  and  I  press  on. 

At  the  top  of  the  stairs  is  an  old  Flemish  woman 
shelling  peas,  while  over  her  shoulder  peeps  a  tame  mag- 
pie. A  savory  odor  of  stewing  vegetables  fills  the  air. 

*  By  permission  of  The  Century  Co. 

54 


THE  CLAVECIN,  BRUGES  55 

"What  do  you  wish,  sir?"  Many  shrugs,  gesticula- 
tions, and  sighs  of  objurgation,  which  are  covered  by  a 
shining  new  five-franc  piece,  and  she  produces  a  bunch 
of  keys.  As  the  door  closes  upon  me  the  magpie  gives  a 
hoarse,  gleeful  squawk. 

...  A  huge,  dim  room  with  a  vaulted  ceiling.  Against 
the  wall  lean  ancient  stone  statues,  noseless  and  dis- 
figured, crowned  and  sceptered  effigies  of  forgotten  lords 
and  ladies  of  Flanders.  High  up  on  the  wall  two  slitted 
Gothic  windows,  through  which  the  violet  light  of  day 
is  streaming.  I  hear  the  gentle  coo  of  pigeons.  To  the 
right  a  low  door,  some  vanishing  steps  of  stone,  and  a 
hanging  hand-rope.  Before  I  have  taken  a  dozen  steps 
upward  I  am  lost  in  the  darkness;  the  steps  are  worn 
hollow  and  sloping,  the  rope  is  slippery — seems  to  have 
been  waxed,  so  smooth  has  it  become  by  handling.  Four 
hundred  steps  and  over;  I  have  lost  track  of  the  num- 
ber, and  stumble  giddily  upward  round  and  round  the 
slender  stone  shaft.  I  am  conscious  of  low  openings 
from  time  to  time — openings  to  what?  I  do  not  know. 
A  damp  smell  exhales  from  them,  and  the  air  is  cold 
upon  my  face  as  I  pass  them.  At  last  a  dim  light  above. 
With  the  next  turn  a  blinding  glare  of  light,  a  moment 's 
blankness,  then  a  vast  panorama  gradually  dawns  upon 
me.  Through  the  frame  of  stonework  is  a  vast  reach 
of  grayish  green  bounded  by  the  horizon,  an  immense 
shield  embossed  with  silvery  lines  of  waterways,  and 
studded  with  clustering  red-tiled  roofs.  A  rim  of  pale 
yellow  appears — the  sand-dunes  that  line  the  coast — 
and  dimly  beyond  a  grayish  film,  evanescent,  flashing — 
the  North  Sea. 

Something  flies  through  the  slit  from  which  I  am  gaz- 


56        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

ing,  and  following  its  flight  upward,  I  see  a  long  beam 
crossing  the  gallery,  whereon  are  perched  an  array  of 
jackdaws  gazing  down  upon  me  in  wonder. 

I  am  conscious  of  a  rhythmic  movement  about  me 
that  stirs  the  air,  a  mysterious,  beating,  throbbing  sound, 
the  machinery  of  the  clock,  which  some  one  has  described 
as  a  "heart  of  iron  beating  in  a  breast  of  stone." 

I  lean  idly  in  the  narrow  slit,  gazing  at  the  softened 
landscape,  the  exquisite  harmony  of  the  greens,  grays, 
and  browns,  the  lazily  turning  arms  of  far-off  mills,  re- 
minders of  Cuyp,  Van  der  Velde,  Teniers,  shadowy, 
mysterious  recollections.  I  am  conscious  of  uttering 
aloud  some  commonplaces  of  delight.  A  slight  and  sud- 
den movement  behind  me,  a  smothered  cough.  A  little 
old  man  in  a  black  velvet  coat  stands  looking  up  at  me, 
twisting"  and  untwisting  his  hands.  There  are  ruffles  at 
his  throat  and  wrists,  and  an  amused  smile  spreads  over 
his  face,  which  is  cleanly  shaven,  of  the  color  of  wax, 
with  a  tiny  network  of  red  lines  over  the  cheek-bones,  as 
if  the  blood  had  been  forced  there  by  some  excess  of 
passion  and  had  remained.  He  has  heard  my  senti- 
mental ejaculation.  I  am  conscious  of  the  absurdity  of 
the  situation,  and  move  aside  for  him  to  pass.  He 
makes  a  courteous  gesture  with  one  ruffled  hand. 

There  comes  a  prodigious  rattling  and  grinding  noise 
from  above — then  a  jangle  of  bells,  some  half-dozen 
notes  in  all.  At  the  first  stroke  the  old  man  closes  his 
eyes,  throws  back  his  head,  and  follows  the  rhythm  with 
his  long  white  hands,  as  though  playing  a  piano.  The 
sound  dies  away;  the  place  becomes  painfully  silent; 
still  the  regular  motion  of  the  old  man's  hands  contin- 
ues. A  creepy,  shivery  feeling  runs  up  and  down  my 


THE  CLAVECIN,  BRUGES  57 

spine;  a  fear  of  which  I  am  ashamed  seizes  upon 
me. 

"Fine  pells,  sare,"  says  the  little  old  man,  suddenly 
dropping  his  hands,  and  fixing  his  eyes  upon  me.  ' '  You 
sail  not  hear  such  pells  in  your  countree.  But  stay  not 
here;  come  wis  me,  and  I  will  show  you  the  clavecin. 
You  sail  not  see  the  clavecin  yet?  No?" 

I  had  not,  of  course,  and  thanked  him. 

"You  sail  see  Melchior,  Melchior  t'e  Groote,  t'e  mag- 
nif'." 

As  he  spoke  we  entered  a  room  quite  filled  with  cu- 
rious machinery,  a  medley  of  levers,  wires,  and  rope 
above;  below,  two  large  cylinders  studded  with  shining 
brass  points. 

He  sprang  among  the  wires  with  a  spidery  sort  of 
agility,  caught  one,  pulled  and  hung  upon  it  with  all 
his  weight.  There  came  a  r-r-r-r-r-r  of  fans  and  wheels, 
followed  by  a  shower  of  dust ;  slowly  one  great  cylinder 
began  to  revolve;  wires  and  ropes  reaching  into  the 
gloom  above  began  to  twitch  convulsively ;  faintly  came 
the  jangle  of  far-off  bells.  Then  came  a  pause,  then  a 
deafening  boom  that  well  nigh  stunned  me.  As  the 
waves  of  sound  came  and  went,  the  little  old  man  twisted 
and  untwisted  his  hands  in  delight,  and  ejaculated, 
"Melchior  you  haf  heeard,  Melchior  t'e  Groote — t'e 
bourdon. ' ' 

I  wanted  to  examine  the  machinery,  but  he  impatiently 
seized  my  arm  and  almost  dragged  me  away  saying,  "I 
will  skow  you — I  will  skow  you.  Come  wis  me." 

From  a  pocket  he  produced  a  long  brass  key  and  un- 
locked a  door  covered  with  red  leather,  disclosing  an  up- 
leading  flight  of  steps  to  which  he  pushed  me.  It  gave 


58        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

upon  an  octagon-shaped  room  with  a  curious  floor  of 
sheet-lead.  Around  the  wall  ran  a  seat  under  the  dia- 
mond-paned  Gothic  windows.  From  their  shape  I  knew 
them  to  be  the  highest  in  the  tower.  I  had  seen  them 
from  the  square  below  many  times,  with  the  framework 
above  upon  which  hung  row  upon  row  of  bells. 

In  the  middle  of  the  room  was  a  rude  sort  of  key- 
board, with  pedals  below,  like  those  of  a  large  organ. 
Fronting  this  construction  sat  a  long,  high-backed 
bench.  On  the  rack  over  the  keyboard  rested  some 
sheets  of  music,  which,  upon  examination,  I  found  to 
be  of  parchment  and  written  by  hand.  The  notes  were 
curious  in  shape,  consisting  of  squares  of  black  and  dia- 
monds of  red  upon  the  lines.  Across  the  top  of  the  page 
was  written,  in  a  straggling  hand,  "Van  den  Gheyn* 
Nikolaas."  I  turned  to  the  little  old  man  with  the  ruf- 
fles. "Van  den  Gheyn!"  I  said  in  surprise,  pointing  to 
the  parchment.  "Why,  that  is  the  name  of  the  most 
celebrated  of  carillonneurs,  Van  den  Gheyn  of  Louvain." 
He  untwisted  his  hands  and  bowed.  * '  Eet  ees  ma  name, 
mynheer — I  am  the  carillonneur." 

I  fancied  that  my  face  showed  all  too  plainly  the  in- 
credulity I  felt,  for  his  darkened,  and  he  muttered, 
"You  not  belief,  Engelsch?  Ah,  I  skow  you;  then  you 
belief,  parehap,"  and  with  astounding  agility  seated 
himself  upon  the  bench  before  the  clavecin,  turned  up 
the  ruffles  at  his  wrists,  and  literally  threw  himself  upon 
the  keys.  A  sound  of  thunder  accompanied  by  a  vivid 
flash  of  lightning  filled  the  air,  even  as  the  first  notes 
of  the  bells  reached  my  ears.  Involuntarily  I  glancec 
out  of  the  diamond-leaded  window — dark  clouds  wer 
all  about  us,  the  housetops  and  surrounding  countr: 


THE  CLAVECIN,  BRUGES  59 

were  no  longer  to  be  seen.  A  blinding  flash  of  lightning 
seemed  to  fill  the  room;  the  arms  and  legs  of  the  little 
old  man  sought  the  keys  and  pedals  with  inconceivable 
rapidity;  the  music  crashed  about  us  with  a  deafening 
din,  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  thunder,  which  seemed 
to  sound  in  unison  with  the  boom  of  the  bourdon.  It 
was  grandly  terrible.  The  face  of  the  little  old  man 
was  turned  upon  me,  but  his  eyes  were  closed.  He 
seemed  to  find  the  pedals  intuitively,  and  at  every  peal 
of  thunder,  which  shook  the  tower  to  its  foundations, 
he  would  open  his  mouth,  a  toothless  cavern,  and  shout 
aloud.  I  could  not  hear  the  sounds  for  the  crashing  of 
the  bells.  Finally,  with  a  last  deafening  crash  of  iron 
rods  and  thunderbolts,  the  noise  of  the  bells  gradually 
died  away.  Instinctively  I  had  glanced  above  when  the 
crash  came,  half  expecting  to  see  the  roof  torn  off. 

"I  think  we  had  better  go  down,"  I  said.  "This 
tower  has  been  struck  by  lightning  several  times,  and  I 
imagine  that  discretion — " 

I  don't  know  what  more  I  said,  for  my  eyes  rested 
upon  the  empty  bench,  and  the  bare  rack  where  the 
music  had  been.  The  clavecin  was  one  mass  of  twisted 
iron  rods,  tangled  wires,  and  decayed,  worm-eaten  wood- 
work; the  little  old  man  had  disappeared.  I  rushed  to 
the  red  leather-covered  door ;  it  was  fast.  I  shook  it  in 
a  veritable  terror;  it  would  not  yield.  With  a  bound 
I  reached  the  ruined  clavecin,  seized  one  of  the  pedals, 
and  tore  it  away  from  the  machine.  The  end  was  armed 
with  an  iron  point.  This  I  inserted  between  the  lock 
and  the  door.  I  twisted  the  lock  from  the  worm-eaten 
wood  with  one  turn  of  the  wrist,  the  door  opened,  and  I 
almost  fell  down  the  steep  steps.  The  second  door  at 


60        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

the  bottom  was  also  closed.  I  threw  my  weight  against 
it  once,  twice ;  it  gave,  and  I  half  slipped,  half  ran  down 
the  winding  steps  in  the  darkness. 

Out  at  last  into  the  fresh  air  of  the  lower  passage! 
At  the  noise  I  made  in  closing  the  ponderous  door  came 
forth  the  old  custode. 

In  my  excitement  I  seized  her  by  the  arm,  saying, 
"Who  was  the  little  old  man  in  the  black  velvet  coat  with 
the  ruffles?  Where  is  he?" 

She  looked  at  me  in  a  stupid  manner.  "Who  is  he," 
I  repeated — "the  little  old  man  who  played  the  clave- 
cin?" 

"Little  old  man,  sir?  I  don't  know,"  said  the  crone. 
"There  has  been  no  one  in  the  tower  to-day  but  your- 
self." 


LIGBIA 

BY  EDGAR  ALLAN  FOB 

"And  the  will  therein  lieth,  which  dieth  not.  Who  knoweth  the 
mysteries  of  the  will,  with  its  vigor?  For  God  is  but  a  great 
will  prevading  all  things  by  nature  of  its  intentness.  Man  doth 
not  yield  himself  to  the  angels,  nor  unto  death  utterly,  save  only 
through  the  weakness  of  his  feeble  will. ' ' — JOSEPH  GLANVILL. 

I  CANNOT,  for  my  soul,  remember  how,  when,  or 
even  precisely  where,  I  first  became  acquainted  with 
the  lady  Ligeia.  Long  years  have  since  elapsed, 
and  my  memory  is  feeble  through  much  suffering.  Or, 
perhaps,  I  cannot  now  bring  these  points  to  mind,  be- 
cause, in  truth,  the  character  of  my  beloved,  her  rare 
learning,  her  singular  yet  placid  caste  of  beauty,  and 
the  thrilling  and  enthralling  eloquence  of  her  low  mu- 
sical language,  made  their  way  into  my  heart  by  paces 
so  steadily  and  stealthily  progressive,  that  they  have 
been  unnoticed  and  unknown.  Yet  I  believe  that  I  met 
her  first  and  most  frequently  in  some  large,  old,  decay- 
ing city  near  the  Rhine.  Of  her  family  I  have  surely 
heard  her  speak.  That  it  is  of  a  remotely  ancient  date 
cannot  be  doubted.  Ligeia !  Ligeia !  Buried  in  studies 
of  a  nature  more  than  all  else  adapted  to  deaden  im- 
pressions of  the  outward  worl.d,  it  is  by  that  sweet  word 
alone — by  Ligeia — that  I  bring  before  mine  eyes  in 
fancy  the  image  of  her  who  is  no  more.  And  now,  while 

61 


62        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

I  write,  a  recollection  flashes  upon  me  that  I  have  never 
kniwn  the  paternal  name  of  her  who  was  my  friend  and 
my  betrothed,  and  who  became  the  partner  of  my 
studies,  and  finally  the  wife  of  my  bosom.  Was  it  a 
playful  charge  on  the  part  of  my  Ligeia?  Or  was  it  a 
test  of  my  strength  of  affection,  that  I  should  institute 
no  inquiries  upon  this  point  ?  Or  was  it  rather  a  caprice 
of  my  own — a  wildly  romantic  offering  on  the  shrine  of 
the  most  passionate  devotion?  I  but  indistinctly  recall 
the  fact  itself — what  wonder  that  I  have  utterly  forgot- 
ten the  circumstances  which  originated  or  attended  it? 
And,  indeed,  if  ever  that  spirit  which  is  entitled  Ro- 
mance— if  ever  she,  the  wan  and  the  misty-winged  Ash- 
tophet  of  idolatrous  Egypt — presided,  as  they  tell,  over 
marriages  ill-omened,  then  most  surely  she  presided  over 
mine. 

There  is  one  dear  topic,  however,  on  which  my  mem- 
ory fails  me  not.  It  is  the  person  of  Ligeia.  In  stature 
she  was  tall,  somewhat  slender,  and,  in  her  latter  days, 
even  emaciated.  I  would  in  vain  attempt  to  portray 
the  majesty,  the  quiet  ease  of  her  demeanor,  or  the  in- 
comprehensible lightness  and  elasticity  of  her  footfall. 
She  came  and  departed  as  a  shadow.  I  was  never 
made  aware  of  her  entrance  into  my  closed  study,  save 
by  the  dear  music  of  her  low  sweet  voice,  as  she  placed 
her  marble  hand  upon  my  shoulder.  In  beauty  of  face 
no  maiden  ever  equalled  her.  It  was  the  radiance  of 
an  opium-dream — an  airy  and  spirit-lifting  vision  more 
wildly  divine  than  the  fantasies  which  hovered  about 
the  slumbering  souls  of  the  daughters  of  Delos.  Yet 
her  features  were  not  of  that  regular  mould  which  we 
have  been  falsely  taught  to  worship  in  the  classical  la- 


LIGEIA  63 

bors  of  the  heathen.    "  There  is  no  exquisite  beauty, " 
says  Bacon,  Lord  Verulam,  speaking  truly  of  all  the 
forms  and  genera  of  beauty,  "without  some  strangeness 
in  the  proportion/'    Yet,  although  I  saw  that  the  fea- 
tures of  Ligeia  were  not  of  a  classic  regularity — al- 
though I  perceived  that  her  loveliness  was  indeed  ex- 
quisite and  felt  that  there  was  much  of  strangeness 
pervading  it — yet  I  have  tried  in  vain  to  detect  the 
irregularity  and  to  trace  home  my  own  perception  of 
"the  strange. "    I  examined  the  contour  of  the  lofty 
and  pale  forehead;  it  was  faultless — how  cold  indeed 
that  word  when  applied  to  a  majesty  so  divine — the 
skin  rivalling  the  purest  ivory;  the  commanding  extent 
and  repose,  the  gentle  prominence  of  the  regions  above 
the  temples;  and  then  the  raven-black,  the  glossy,  the 
luxuriant   and  naturally-curling  tresses,   setting  forth 
the  full  force  of  the  Homeric  epithet,  ' '  hyacinthine  " !  I 
looked  at  the  delicate  outlines  of  the  nose,  and  nowhere 
but  in  the  graceful  medallions  of  the  Hebrews  had  I 
i  beheld  a  similar  perfection.     There  were  the  same  lux- 
urious smoothness  of  surface,  the  same  scarcely  per- 
I  ceptible  tendency  to  the  aquiline,  the  same  harmoniously 
I  curved  nostrils  speaking  the  free  spirit.     I  regarded  the 
it  sweet   mouth.     Here   was  indeed   the   triumph   of   all 
things  heavenly — the  magnificent  turn  of  the  short  up- 
Iper  lip,  the  soft,  voluptuous  slumber  of  the  under,  the 
dimples  which  sported,  and  the  color  which  spoke,  the 
|  teeth  glancing  back,  with  a  brilliancy  almost  startling, 
H  every  ray  of  the  holy  light  which  fell  upon  them  in  her 
j<  serene  and  placid,  yet  most  exultingly  radiant  of  all 
|  smiles.     I  scrutinized  the  formation  of  the  chin,  and 
laere,  too,  I  found  the  gentleness  of  breadth,  the  soft- 


64        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

ness  and  the  majesty,  the  fulness  and  the  spirituality 
of  the  Greek — the  contour  which  the  god  Apollo  revealed 
but  in  a  dream,  to  Cleomenes,  the  son  of  the  Athenian. 
And  then  I  peered  into  the  large  eyes  of  Ligeia. 

For  eyes  we  have  no  models  in  the  remotely  antique. 
It  might  have  been,  too,  that  in  these  eyes  of  my  be- 
loved lay  the  secret  to  which  Lord  Yerulam  alludes. 
They  were,  I  must  believe,  far  larger  than  the  ordinary 
eyes  of  our  own  race.  They  were  even  fuller  than  the 
fullest  of  the  gazelle  eyes  of  the  tribe  of  the  valley  of 
Nourjahad.  Yet  it  was  only  at  intervals — in  moments 
of  intense  excitement — that  this  peculiarity  became  more 
than  slightly  noticeable  in  Ligeia.  And  at  such  mo- 
ments was  her  beauty — in  my  heated  fancy  thus  it  ap- 
peared perhaps — the  beauty  of  beings  either  above  or 
apart  from  the  earth — the  beauty  of  the  fabulous  Houri 
of  the  Turk.  The  hue  of  the  orbs  was  the  most  bril- 
liant of  black,  and  far  over  them  hung  jetty  lashes  of 
great  length.  The  brows,  slightly  irregular  in  outline, 
had  the  same  tint.  The  lt strangeness,"  however,  which 
I  found  in  the  eyes,  was  of  a  nature  distinct  from  the 
formation,  or  the  color,  or  the  brilliancy  of  the  features, 
and  must,  after  all,  be  referred  to  the  expression.  Ah, 
word  of  no  meaning,  behind  whose  vast  latitude  of  mere 
sound  we  intrench  our  ignorance  of  so  much  of  the 
spiritual!  The  expression  of  the  eyes  of  Ligeia!  How 
for  long  hours  have  I  pondered  upon  it!  How  have  I, 
through  the  whole  of  a  midsummer  night,  struggled 
to  fathom  it!  What  was  it — that  something  more  pro- 
found than  the  well  of  Democritus — which  lay  far 
within  the  pupils  of  my  beloved?  What  was  it?  I 
was  possessed  with  a  passion  to  discover.  Those  eyes, 


LIGEIA  v  65 

those  large,  those  shining,  those  divine  orbs — they  be- 
came to  me  twin  stars  of  Leda,  and  I  to  them  devoutest 
of  astrologers. 

There  is  no  point,  among  the  many  incomprehensible 
anomalies  of  the  science  of  mind,  more  thrillingly  excit- 
ing than  the  fact — never,  I  believe,  noticed  in  the  schools 
— that  in  our  endeavors  to  recall  to  memory  something 
long  forgotten,  we  often  find  ourselves  upon  the  very 
verge  of  remembrance,  without  being  able,  in  the  end, 
to  remember.  And  thus  how  frequently,  in  my  intense 
scrutiny  of  Ligeia's  eyes,  have  I  felt  approaching  the 
full  knowledge  of  their  expression — felt  it  approaching, 
yet  not  quite  be  mine — and  so  at  length  entirely  de- 
part! And  (strange,  oh  strangest  mystery  of  all!)  I 
found  in  the  commonest  objects  of  the  universe,  a  circle 
of  analogies  to  that  expression.  I  mean  to  say  that,  sub- 
sequently to  the  period  when  Ligeia's  beauty  passed 
into  my  spirit,  there  dwelling  as  in  a  shrine,  I  derived 
from  many  existences  in  the  material  world  a  sentiment 
such  as  I  felt  always  around,  within  me,  by  her  large 
and  luminous  orbs.  Yet  not  the  more  could  I  define 
that  sentiment,  or  analyze,  or  even  steadily  view  it.  I 
recognized  it,  let  me  repeat,  sometimes  in  the  survey 
of  a  rapidly-growing  vine,  in  the  contemplation  of  a 
moth,  a  butterfly,  a  chrysalis,  a  stream  of  running  wa- 
ter. I  have  felt  it  in  the  ocean,  in  the  falling  of  a 
meteor.  I  have  felt  it  in  the  glances  of  unusually  aged 
people.  And  there  are  one  or  two  stars  in  heaven,  (one 
especially,  a  star  of  the  sixth  magnitude,  double  and 
changeable,  to  be  found  near  the  large  star  in  Lyra)  in 
a  telescopic  scrutiny  of  which  I  have  been  made  aware 
of  the  feeling.  I  have  been  filled  with  it  by  certain 


66        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

sounds  from  stringed  instruments,  and  not  unf requently 
by  passages  from  books.  Among  innumerable  other  in- 
stances, I  well  remember  something  in  a  volume  of  Jo- 
seph Glanvill,  which  (perhaps  merely  from  its  quaint- 
ness — who  shall  say?)  never  failed  to  inspire  me  with 
the  sentiment :  ' '  And  the  will  therein  lieth,  which  dieth 
not.  Who  knoweth  the  mysteries  of  the  will,  with  its 
vigor  ?  For  God  is  but  a  great  will  pervading  all  things 
by  nature  of  its  intentness.  Man  doth  not  yield  him 
to  the  angels,  nor  unto  death  utterly,  save  only  through 
the  weakness  of  his  feeble  will." 

Length  of  years  and  subsequent  reflection  have  en- 
abled me  to  trace,  indeed,  some  remote  connection  be- 
tween this  passage  in  the  English  moralist  and  a  portion 
of  the  character  of  Ligeia.  An  intensity  in  thought, 
action,  or  speech  was  possibly,  in  her,  a  result  or  at  least 
an  index  of  that  gigantic  volition  which,  during  our 
long  intercourse,  failed  to  give  other  and  more  imme- 
diate evidence  of  its  existence.  Of  all  the  women  whom 
I  have  ever  known,  she — the  outwardly  calm,  the  ever- 
placid  Ligeia — was  the  most  violently  a  prey  to  the 
tumultuous  vultures  of  stern  passion.  And  of  such 
passion  I  could  form  no  estimate,  save  by  the  miraculous 
expansion  of  those  eyes  which  at  once  so  delighted  and 
appalled  me,  by  the  almost  magical  melody,  modulation, 
distinctness,  and  placidity  of  her  very  low  voice,  and  by 
the  fierce  energy  (rendered  doubly  effective  by  contrast 
with  her  manner  of  utterance)  of  the  wild  words  which 
she  habitually  uttered. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  learning  of  Ligeia;  it  was  im- 
mense, such  as  I  have  never  known  in  woman.  In  the 
classical  tongues  *was  she  deeply  proficient,  and  as  far 


LIGEIA  67 

as  my  own  acquaintance  extended  in  regard  to  the  mod- 
ern dialects  of  Europe,  I  have  never  known  her  at  fault, 
Indeed  upon  any  theme  of  the  most  admired,  because 
simply  the  most  abstruse  of  the  boasted  eruditioft  of  the 
academy,  have  I  ever  found  Ligeia  at  fault?  How  sin- 
gularly, how  thrillingly,  this  one  point  in  the  nature  of 
my  wife  has  forced  itself,  at  this  late  period  only,  upon 
my  attention !  I  said  her  knowledge  was  such  as  I  have 
never  known  in  woman — but  where  breathes  the  man 
who  has  traversed,  and  successfully,  all  the  wide  areas 
of  moral,  physical,  and  mathematical  science?  I  saw 
not  then  what  I  now  clearly  perceive,  that  the  acquisi- 
tions of  Ligeia  were  gigantic,  were  astounding;  yet  I 
was  sufficiently  aware  of  her  infinite  supremacy  to  resign 
myself,  with  a  child-like  confidence,  to  her  guidance 
through  the  chaotic  world  of  metaphysical  investigation 
at  which  I  was  most  busily  occupied  during  the  earlier 
years  of  our  marriage.  With  how  vast  a  triumph,  with 
how  vivid  a  delight,  with  how  much  of  all  that  is  ethereal 
in  hope,  did  I  feel,  as  she  bent  over  me  in  studies  but  lit- 
tle sought — but  less  known — that  delicious  vista  by  slow 
degrees  expanding  before  me,  down  whose  long,  gor- 
geous, and  all  untrodden  path  I  might  at  length  pass 
onward  to  the  goal  of  a  wisdom  too  divinely  precious  not 
to  be  forbidden! 

How  poignant,  then,  must  have  been  the  grief  with 
which,  after  some  years,  I  beheld  my  well-grounded  ex- 
pectations take  wings  to  themselves  and  fly  away !  With- 
out Ligeia  I  was  but  as  a  child  groping  benighted.  Her 
presence,  her  readings  alone,  rendered  vividly  luminous 
the  many  mysteries  of  the  transcendentalism  in  which 
we  were  immersed.  Wanting  the  radiant  luster  of  her 


68        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

eyes,  letters,  lambent  and  golden,  grew  duller  than  Sat- 
urnian  lead.  And  now  those  eyes  shone  less  and  less 
frequently  upon  the  pages  over  which  I  pored.  Ligeia 
grew  ill.  The  wild  eyes  blazed  with  a  too,  too  glorious 
effulgence;  the  pale  fingers  became  of  the  transparent 
waxen  hue  of  the  grave;  and  the  blue  veins  upon  the 
lofty  forehead  swelled  and  sank  impetuously  with  the 
tides  of  the  most  gentle  emotion.  I  saw  that  she  must 
die — and  I  struggled  desperately  in  spirit  with  the  grim 
Azrael.  And  the  struggles  of  the  passionate  wife  were, 
to  my  astonishment,  even  more  energetic  than  my  own. 
There  had  been  much  in  her  stern  nature  to  impress  me 
with  the  belief  that,  to  her,  death  would  have  come  with- 
out its  terrors ;  but  not  so.  Words  are  impotent  to  con- 
vey any  just  idea  of  the  fierceness  of  resistance  with 
which  she  wrestled  with  the  Shadow.  I  groaned  in  an- 
guish at  the  pitiable  spectacle.  I  would  have  soothed, 
I  would  have  reasoned,  but,  in  the  intensity  of  her  wild 
desire  for  life — for  life — but  for  life — solace  and  reason 
were  alike  the  uttermost  of  folly.  Yet  not  until  the  last 
instance,  amid  the  most  convulsive  writhings  of  her 
fierce  spirit,  was  shaken  the  external  placidity  of  her 
demeanor.  Her  voice  grew  more  gentle — grew  more  low 
— yet  I  would  not  wish  to  dwell  upon  the  wild  meaning 
of  the  quietly  uttered  words.  My  brain  reeled  as  I 
hearkened,  entranced,  to  a  melody  more  than  mortal,  to 
assumptions  and  aspirations  which  mortality  had  never 
before  known. 

That  she  loved  me  I  should  not  have  doubted,  and 
I  might  have  been  easily  aware  that,  in  a  bosom  such  as 
hers,  love  would  have  reigned  no  ordinary  passion.  But 
in  death  only  was  I  fully  impressed  with  the  strength 


LIGEIA  69 

of  her  affection.  For  long  hours,  detaining  my  hand, 
would  she  pour  out  before  me  the  overflowing  of*  a  heart 
whose  more  than  passionate  devotion  amounted  to  idol- 
atry. How  had  I  deserved  to  be  so  blessed  by  such  con- 
fessions? How  had  I  deserved  to  be  so  cursed  with  the 
removal  of  my  beloved  in  the  hour  of  her  making  them? 
But  upon  this  subject  I  cannot  bear  to  dilate.  Let  me 
say  only,  that  in  Ligeia's  more  than  womanly  abandon- 
ment to  a  love,  alas!  all  unmerited,  all  unworthily  be- 
stowed, I  at  length  recognized  the  principle  of  her  long- 
ing, with  so  wildly  earnest  a  desire,  for  the  life  which 
was  now  fleeing  so  rapidly  away.  It  is  this  wild  long- 
ing— it  is  this  eager  vehemence  of  desire  for  life — but 
for  life — that  I  have  no  power  to  portray,  no  utterance 
capable  of  expressing. 

At  high  noon  of  the  night  in  which  she  departed,  beck- 
oning me  peremptorily  to  her  side,  she  bade  me  repeat 
certain  verses  composed  by  herself  not  many  days  before. 
I  obeyed  her.  They  were  these : 

Lo !  'tis  a  gala  night 

Within  the  lonesome  latter  years! 
An  angel  throng,  bewinged,  bedight 

In  veils,  and  drowned  in  tears, 
Sit  in  a  theater,  to  see 

A  play  of  hopes  and  fears, 
.While  the  orchestra  breathes  fitfully 

The  music  of  the  spheres. 

Mimes,  in  the  form  of  God  on  high, 

Mutter  and  mumble  low, 
And  hither  and  thither  fly; 

Mere  puppets  they,  who  come  and  go 


70        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

At  bidding  of  vast  formless  things 
That  shift  the  scenery  to  and  fro, 

Flapping  from  out  their  condor  wings 
Invisible  Woe! 


That  motley  drama ! — oh,  be  sure 

It  shall  not  be  forgot ! 
With  its  Phantom  chased  for  evermore, 

By  a  crowd  that  seize  it  not, 
Through  a  circle  that  ever  returneth  in 

To  the  self -same  spot ; 
And  much  of  Madness,  and  more  of  Sin 

And  Horror,  the  soul  of  the  plot ! 

But  see,  amid  the  mimic  rout 

A  crawling  shape  intrude! 
A  blood-red  thing  that  writhes  from  out 

The  scenic  solitude! 
It  writhes ! — it  writhes ! — with  mortal 

The  mimes  become  its  food, 
And  the  seraphs  sob  at  vermin  fangs 

In  human  gore  imbued. 

Out — out  are  the  lights — out  all ! 

And  over  each  quivering  form, 
The  curtain,  a  funeral  pall, 

Comes  down  with  the  rush  of  a  storm — 
And  the  angels,  all  pallid  and  wan, 

Uprising,  unveiling,  affirm 
That  the  play  is  the  tragedy,  "Man," 

And  its  hero,  the  Conqueror  Worm. 


LIGEIA  71 

11 0  God!"  half -shrieked  Ligeia,  leaping  to  her  feet 
and  extending  her  arms  aloft  with  a  spasmodic  move- 
ment, as  I  made  an  end  of  these  lines,  "0  God !  O  Divine 
Father!  Shall  these  things  be  undeviatingly  so?  Shall 
this  conqueror  be  not  once  conquered  ?  Are  we  not  part 
and  parcel  in  Thee?  Who — who  knoweth  the  mysteries 
of  the  will  with  its  vigor?  Man  doth  not  yield  him 
to  the  angels,  nor  unto  death  utterly,  save  only  through 
the  weakness  of  his  feeble  will." 

And  now,  as  if  exhausted  with  emotion,  she  suffered 
her  white  arms  to  fall,  and  returned  solemnly  to  her 
bed  of  death.  And  as  she  breathed  her  last  sighs,  there 
came  mingled  with  them  a  low  murmur  from  her  lips.  I 
bent  to  them  my  ear,  and  distinguished  again,  the  con- 
cluding words  of  the  passage  in  Glanvill :  "Man  doth  not 
yield  him  to  the  angels,  nor  unto  death  utterly,  save  only 
through  the  weakness  of  his  feeble  will." 

She  died,  and  I,  crushed  into  the  very  dust  with  sor- 
row, could  no  longer  endure  the  lonely  desolation  of  my 
dwelling  in  the  dim  and  decaying  city  by  the  Rhine.  I 
had  no  lack  of  what  the  world  calls  wealth.  Ligeia  had 
brought  me  far  more,  very  far  more  than  ordinarily  falls 
to  the  lot  of  mortals.  After  a  few  months,  therefore, 
of  weary  and  aimless  wandering,  I  purchased  and  put 
in  some  repair  an  abbey  which  I  shall  not  name  in  one 
of  the  wildest  and  least  frequented  portions  of  fair  Eng- 
land. The  gloomy  and  dreary  grandeur  of  the  building, 
the  almost  savage  aspect  of  the  domain,  the  many  mel- 
ancholy and  time-honored  memories  connected  with  both, 
had  much  in  unison  with  the  feelings  of  utter  abandon- 
ment which  had  driven  me  into  that  remote  and  unsocial 
region  of  the  country.  Yet,  although  the  external  ab- 


72        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

bey  with  its  verdant  decay  hanging  about  it  suffered  but 
little  alteration,  I  gave  way  with  a  child-like  perversity, 
and  perchance  with  a  faint  hope  of  alleviating  my  sor- 
rows, to  a  display  of  more  than  regal  magnificence  within. 
For  such  follies,  even  in  childhood,  I  had  imbibed  a 
taste,  and  now  they  came  back  to  me  as  if  in  the  dotage 
of  grief.  Alas,  I  feel  how  much  even  of  incipient  mad- 
ness might  have  been  discovered  in  the  gorgeous  and  fan- 
tastic draperies,  in  the  solemn  carvings  of  Egypt,  in  the 
wild  cornices  and  furniture,  in  the  Bedlam  patterns  of 
the  carpets  of  tufted  gold!  I  had  become  a  bounden 
slave  in  the  trammels  of  opium,  and  my  labors  and  my 
orders  had  taken  a  coloring  from  my  dreams.  But  these 
absurdities  I  must  not  pause  to  detail.  Let  me  speak 
only  of  that  one  chamber,  ever  accursed,  whither  in  a 
moment  of  mental  alienation,  I  led  from  the  altar  as  my 
bride — as  the  successor  of  the  unforgotten  Ligeia — the 
fair-haired  and  blue-eyed  Lady  Kowena  Trevanion,  of 
Tremaine. 

There  is  no  individual  portion  of  the  architecture  and 
decoration  of  that  bridal  chamber  which  is  not  now  visi- 
bly before  me.  Where  were  the  souls  of  the  haughty  fam- 
ily of  the  bride,  when,  through  thirst  of  gold,  they  permit- 
ted to  pass  the  threshold  of  an  apartment  so  bedecked,  a 
maiden  and  a  daughter  so  beloved?  I  have  said  that  I 
minutely  remember  the  details  of  the  chamber,  yet  I  am 
sadly  forgetful  on  topics  of  deep  moment ;  and  here  there 
was  no  system,  no  keeping,  in  the  fantastic  display,  to 
take  hold  upon  the  memory.  The  room  lay  in  a  high 
turret  of  the  castellated  abbey,  was  pentagonal  in  shape, 
and  of  capacious  size.  Occupying  the  whole  southern 
face  of  the  pentagon  was  the  sole  window — an  immense 


LIGEIA  73 

sheet  of  unbroken  glass  from  Venice — a  single  pane,  and 
tinted  of  a  leaden  hue,  so  that  the  rays  of  either  the  sun 
or  moon  passing  through  it  fell  with  a  ghastly  luster  on 
the  objects  within.  Over  the  upper  portion  of  this  huge 
window  extended  the  trellis- work  of  an  aged  vine  which 
clambered  up  the  massy  walls  of  the  turret.  The  ceil- 
ing, of  gloomy-looking  oak,  was  excessively  lofty, 
vaulted,  and  elaborately  fretted  with  the  wildest  and 
most  grotesque  specimens  of  a  semi-Gothic,  semi-Druid- 
ical  device.  From  out  the  most  central  recess  of  this 
melancholy  vaulting  depended,  by  a  single  chain  of  gold 
with  long  links,  a  huge  censer  of  the  same  metal,  Sara- 
cenic in  pattern,  and  with  many  perforations  so  con- 
trived that  there  writhed  in  and  out  of  them,  as  if  en- 
dued with  a  serpent  vitality,  a  continual  succession  of 
parti-colored  fires. 

Some  few  ottomans  and  golden  candelabra  of  Eastern 
figure  were  in  various  stations  about ;  and  there  was  the 
couch,  too — the  bridal  couch — of  an  Indian  model,  and 
low,  and  sculptured  of  solid  ebony,  with  a  pall-like  can- 
opy above.  In  each  of  the  angles  of  the  chamber  stood 
on  end  a  gigantic  sarcophagus  of  black  granite,  from  the 
tombs  of  the  kings  over  against  Luxor,  with  their  aged 
lids  full  of  immemorial  sculpture.  But  in  the  draping 
of  the  apartment  lay,  alas !  the  chief  fantasy  of  all.  The 
lofty  walls,  gigantic  in  height — even  unproportionably 
so — were  hung  from  summit  to  foot  in  vast  folds  with 
a  heavy  and  massive-looking  tapestry — tapestry  of  a 
material  which  was  found  alike  as  a  carpet  on  the  floor, 
as  a  covering  for  the  ottomans  and  the  ebony  bed,  as  a 
canopy  for  the  bed,  and  as  the  gorgeous  volutes  of  the 
curtains  which  partially  shaded  the  window.  The  ma- 


74        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

terial  was  the  richest  cloth  of  gold.  It  was  spotted  all 
over,  at  irregular  intervals,  with  arabesque  figures,  about 
a  foot  in  diameter,  and  wrought  upon  the  cloth  in  pat- 
terns of  the  most  jetty  black.  But  these  figures  partook 
of  the  true  character  of  the  arabesque  only  when  re- 
garded from  a  single  point  of  view.  By  a  contrivance 
now  common,  and  indeed  traceable  to  a  very  remote 
period  of  antiquity,  they  were  made  changeable  in  as- 
pect. To  one  entering  the  room  they  bore  the  appear- 
ance of  simple  monstrosities,  but  upon  a  farther  advance 
this  appearance  gradually  departed;  and,  step  by  step 
as  the  visitor  moved  his  station  in  the  chamber  he  saw 
himself  surrounded  by  an  endless  succession  of  the 
ghastly  forms  which  belong  to  the  superstition  of  the 
Norman,  or  arise  in  the  guilty  slumbers  of  the  monk. 
The  phantasmagoric  effect  was  vastly  heightened  by  the 
artificial  introduction  of  a  strong  continual  current  of 
wind  behind  the  draperies — giving  a  hideous  and  uneasy 
animation  to  the  whole. 

In  halls  such  as  these — in  a  bridal  chamber  such  as 
this — I  passed,  with  fhe  Lady  of  Tremaine,  the  unhal- 
lowed hours  of  the  first  month  of  our  marriage — passed 
them  with  but  little  disquietude.  That  my  wife  dreaded 
the  fierce  moodiness  of  my  temper,  that  she  shunned  me, 
and  loved  me  but  little,  I  could  not  help  perceiving ;  but 
it  gave  me  rather  pleasure  than  otherwise.  I  loathed 
her  with  a  hatred  belonging  more  to  demon  than  to  man. 
My  memory  flew  back — oh,  with  what  intensity  of  regret ! 
— to  Ligeia,  the  beloved,  the  august,  the  beautiful,  the 
entombed.  I  revelled  in  recollections  of  her  purity,  of 
her  wisdom,  of  her  lofty,  her  ethereal  nature,  of  her 
passionate,  her  idolatrous  love.  Now,  then,  did  my 


LIGEIA  75 

spirit  fully  and  freely  burn  with  more  than  all  the  fires 
of  her  own.  In  the  excitement  of  my  opium  dreams  (for 
I  was  habitually  fettered  in  the  shackles  of  the  drug) 
I  would  call  aloud  upon  her  name,  during  the 
silence  of  the  night,  or  among  the  sheltered  recesses  of 
the  glens  by  day,  as  if,  through  the  wild  eagerness,  the 
solemn  passion,  the  consuming  ardor  of  my  longing  for 
the  departed,  I  could  restore  her  to  the  pathway  she  had 
abandoned — ah,  could  it  be  for  ever  ? — upon  the  earth. 

About  the  commencement  of  the  second  month  of  the 
marriage  the  Lady  Bowena  was  attacked  with  sudden 
illness,  from  which  her  recovery  was  slow.  The  fever 
which  consumed  her  rendered  her  nights  uneasy ;  and  in 
her  perturbed  state  of  half -slumber  she  spoke  of  sounds 
and  of  motions  in  and  about  the  chamber  of  the  turret 
which  I  concluded  had  no  origin  save  in  the  distemper  of 
her  fancy,  or  perhaps  in  the  phantasmagoric  influences 
of  the  chamber  itself.  She  became  at  length  convales- 
cent— finally,  well.  Yet  but  a  brief  period  elapsed  ere 
a  second  more  violent  disorder  again  threw  her  upon  a 
bed  of  suffering,  and  from  this  attack  her  frame,  at  all 
times  feeble,  never  altogether  recovered.  Her  illnesses 
were,  after  this  epoch,  of  alarming  character  and  of  more 
alarming  recurrence,  defying  alike  the  knowledge  and  the 
great  exertions  of  her  physicians.  With  the  increase  of 
the  chronic  disease,  which  had  thus,  apparently,  taken 
too  sure  hold  upon  her  constitution  to  be  eradicated  by 
human  means,  I  could  not  fail  to  observe  a  similar  in- 
crease in  the  nervous  irritation  of  her  temperament,  and 
in  her  excitability  by  trivial  causes  of  fear.  She  spoke 
again,  and  now  more  frequently  and  pertinaciously,  of 
the  sounds — of  the  slight  sounds — and  of  the  unusual 


76        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

motions  among  the  tapestries,  to  which  she  had  formerly 
alluded. 

One  night  near  the  closing  in  of  September  she  pressed 
this  distressing  subject  with  more  than  usual  emphasis 
upon  my  attention.  She  had  just  awakened  from  an 
unquiet  slumber,  and  I  had  been  watching,  with  feelings 
half  of  anxiety,  half  of  vague  terror,  the  workings  of  her 
emaciated  countenance.  I  sat  by  the  side  of  her  ebony 
bed,  upon  one  of  the  ottomans  of  India.  She  partly 
arose,  and  spoke,  in  an  earnest  low  whisper,  of  sounds 
which  she  then  heard,  but  which  I  could  not  hear,  of  mo- 
tions which  she  then  saw,  but  which  I  could  not  perceive. 
The  wind  was  rushing  hurriedly  behind  the  tapestries, 
and  I  wished  to  show  her  (what,  let  me  confess  it,  I  could 
not  all  believe)  that  those  almost  inarticulate  breathings, 
and  those  very  gentle  variations  of  the  figures  upon  the 
wall,  were  but  the  natural  effects  of  that  customary  rush- 
ing of  the  wind.  But  a  deadly  pallor  overspreading 
her  face  had  proved  to  me  that  my  exertions  to  reassure 
her  would  be  fruitless.  She  appeared  to  be  fainting, 
and  no  attendants  were  within  call.  I  remembered  where 
was  deposited  a  decanter  of  light  wine  which  had  been 
ordered  by  her  physicians,  and  hastened  across  the  cham- 
ber to  procure  it.  But  as  I  stepped  beneath  the  light  of 
the  censer,  two  circumstances  of  a  startling  nature  at- 
tracted my  attention.  I  had  felt  that  some  palpable  al- 
though invisible  object  had  passed  lightly  by  my  person; 
and  I  saw  that  there  lay  upon  the  golden  carpet,  in  "the 
very  middle  of  the  rich  luster  thrown  from  the  censer,  a 
shadow — a  faint,  indefinite  shadow  of  angelic  aspect, 
such  as  might  be  fancied  for  the  shadow  of  a  shade.  But 
I  was  wild  with  the  excitement  of  an  immoderate  dose  of 


LIGEIA  77 

opium,  and  heeded  these  things  but  little,  nor  spoke  of 
them  to  Rowena.  Having  found  the  wine,  I  recrossed 
the  chamber  and  poured  out  a  gobletful  which  I  held  to 
the  lips  of  the  fainting  lady.  She  had  now  partially  re- 
covered, however,  and  took  the  vessel  herself,  while  I 
sank  upon  an  ottoman  near  me,  with  my  eyes  fastened 
upon  her  person.  It  was  then  that  I  became  distinctly 
aware  of  a  gentle  footfall  upon  the  carpet  and  near  the 
couch ;  and  in  a  second  after  as  Rowena  was  in  the  act  of 
raising  the  wine  to  her  lips  I  saw,  or  may  have  dreamed 
that  I  saw,  fall  within  the  goblet,  as  if  from  some  invisi- 
ble spring  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  room,  three  or  four 
large  drops  of  a  brilliant  and  ruby-colored  fluid.  If  this 
I  saw — not  so  Rowena.  She  swallowed  the  wine  unhesi- 
tatingly, and  I  forbore  to  speak  to  her  of  a  circumstance 
which  must,  after  all,  I  considered,  have  been  but  the 
suggestion  of  a  vivid  imagination,  rendered  morbidly 
active  by  the  terror  of  the  lady,  by  the  opium,  and  by 
the  hour. 

Yet  I  cannot  conceal  it  from  my  own  perception  that, 
immediately  subsequent  to  the  fall  of  the  ruby-drops, 
a  rapid  change  for  the  worse  took  place  in  the  disorder 
of  my  wife,  so  that,  on  the  third  subsequent  night  the 
hands  of  her  menials  prepared  her  for  the  tomb,  and  on 
the  fourth  I  sat  alone  with  her  shrouded  body  in  that 
fantastic  chamber  which  had  received  her  as  my  bride. 
Wild  visions,  opium-engendered,  fluttered,  shadow-like, 
before  me.  I  gazed  with  unquiet  eye  upon  the  sar- 
cophagi in  the  angles  of  the  room,  upon  the  varying  fig- 
ures of  the  drapery,  and  upon  the  writhing  of  the  parti- 
colored fires  in  the  censer  overhead.  My  eyes  then  fell, 
as  I  called  to  mind  the  circumstances  of  a  former  night, 


78        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

to  the  spot  beneath  the  glare  of  the  censer  where  I  had 
seen  the  faint  traces  of  the  shadow.  It  was  there,  how- 
ever, no  longer;  and  breathing  with  greater  freedom,  I 
turned  my  glances  to  the  pallid  and  rigid  figure  upon  the 
bed.  Then  rushed  upon  me  a  thousand  memories  of 
Ligeia — and  then  came  back  upon  my  heart  with  the 
turbulent  violence  of  a  flood  the  whole  of  that  unutter- 
able woe  with  which  I  had  regarded  her  thus  enshrouded. 
The  night  waned ;  and  still,  with  a  bosom  full  of  bitter 
thoughts  of  the  one  only  and  supremely  beloved,  I  re- 
mained gazing  upon  the  body  of  Rowena. 

It  might  have  been  midnight,  or  perhaps  earlier,  or 
later — for  I  had  taken  no  note  of  time — when  a  sob, 
low,  gentle,  but  very  distinct,  startled  me  from  my 
revery.  I  felt  that  it  came  from  the  bed  of  ebony — the 
bed  of  death.  I  listened  in  an  agony  of  superstitious 
terror — but  there  was  no  repetition  of  the  sound.  I 
strained  my  vision  to  detect  any  motion  in  the  corpse — 
but  there  was  not  the  slightest  perceptible.  Yet  I  could 
not  have  been  deceived.  I  had  heard  the  noise,  how- 
ever faint,  and  my  soul  was  awakened  within  me.  I 
resolutely  and  perseveringly  kept  my  attention  riveted 
upon  the  body.  Many  minutes  elapsed  before  any  cir- 
cumstance occurred  tending  to  throw  light  upon  the 
mystery.  At  length  it  became  evident  that  a  slight,  a 
very  feeble  and  barely  noticeable  tinge  of  color  had 
flushed  up  within  the  cheeks,  and  along  the  sunken  small 
veins  of  the  eyelids.  Through  a  species  of  unutterable 
horror  and  awe,  for  which  the  language  of  mortality 
has  no  sufficiently  energetic  expression,  I  felt  my  heart 
cease  to  beat,  my  limbs  grow  rigid  where  I  sat.  Yet  a 
sense  of  duty  finally  operated  to  restore  my  self -posses- 


LIGEIA  79 

sion.  I  could  no  longer  doubt  that  we  had  been  precipi- 
tate in  our  preparations — that  Rowena  still  lived.  It 
was  necessary  that  some  immediate  exertion  be  made, 
yet  the  turret  was  altogether  apart  from  the  portion  of 
the  abbey  tenanted  by  the  servants — there  were  none 
within  call,  and  I  had  no  means  of  summoning  them  to  my 
aid  without  leaving  the  room  for  many  minutes — and 
this  I  could  not  venture  to  do.  I  therefore  struggled 
alone  in  my  endeavors  to  call  back  the  spirit  still  hover- 
ing. In  a  short  period  it  was  certain,  however,  that  a 
relapse  had  taken  place,  the  color  disappeared  from 
both  eyelid  and  cheek,  leaving  a  wanness  even  more  than 
that  of  marble;  the  lips  became  doubly  shrivelled  and 
pinched  up  in  the  ghastly  expression  of  death ;  a  repul- 
sive clamminess  and  coldness  overspread  rapidly  the 
surface  of  the  body ;  and  all  the  usual  rigorous  stiffness 
immediately  supervened.  I  fell  back  with  a  shudder 
upon  the  couch,  from  which  I  had  been  so  startlingly 
aroused,  and  again  gave  myself  up  to  passionate  waking 
visions  of  Ligeia. 

An  hour  thus  elapsed,  when — could  it  be  possible? — I 
was  a  second  time  aware  of  some  vague  sound  issuing 
from  the  region  of  the  bed.  I  listened — in  extremity 
of  horror.  The  sound  came  again — it  was  a  sigh.  Rush- 
ing to  the  corpse,  I  saw — distinctly  saw — a  tremor  upon 
the  lips.  In  a  minute  afterward  they  relaxed,  disclosing 
a  bright  line  of  the  pearly  teeth.  Amazement  now  strug- 
gled in  my  bosom  with  the  profound  awe  which  had 
hitherto  reigned  there  alone.  I  felt  that  my  vision  grew 
dim,  that  my  reason  wandered,  and  it  was  only  by  a 
violent  effort  that  I  at  length  succeeded  in  nerving  my- 
self to  the  task  which  duty  thus  once  more  had  pointed 


80        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

out.  There  was  now  a  partial  glow  upon  the  forehead 
and  upon  the  cheek  and  throat,  a  perceptible  warmth 
pervaded  the  whole  frame,  there  was  even  a  slight  pul- 
sation at  the  heart.  The  lady  lived;  and  with  redoubled 
ardor  I  betook  myself  to  the  task  of  restoration.  I 
chafed  and  bathed  the  temples  and  the  hands  and  used 
every  exertion  which  experience  and  no  little  medical 
reading  could  suggest.  But  in  vain.  Suddenly,  the 
color  fled,  the  pulsation  ceased,  the  lips  resumed  the  ex- 
pression of  the  dead,  and,  in  an  instant  afterward,  the 
whole  body  took  upon  itself  the  icy  chilliness,  the  livid 
hue,  the  intense  rigidity,  the  sunken  outline,  and  all  the 
loathsome  peculiarities  of  that  which  has  been,  for  many 
days,  a  tenant  of  the  tomb. 

And  again  I  sunk  into  visions  of  Ligeia — and  again, 
(what  marvel  that  I  shudder  while  I  write?)  again 
there  reached  my  ears  a  low  sob  from  the  region  of  the 
ebony  bed.  But  why  should  I  minutely  detail  the  un- 
speakable horrors  of  that  night?  Why  should  I  pause 
to  relate  how,  time  after  time,  until  near  the  period  of 
the  gray  dawn,  this  hideous  drama  of  revivification  was 
repeated;  how  each  terrific  relapse  was  only  into  a 
sterner  and  apparently  more  irredeemable  death ;  how 
each  agony  wore  the  aspect  of  a  struggle  with  some  in- 
visible foe;  and  how  each  struggle  was  succeeded  by  I 
know  not  what  of  wild  change  in  the  personal  appear- 
ance of  the  corpse?  Let  me  hurry  to  a  conclusion. 

The  greater  part  of  the  fearful  night  had  worn  away, 
and  she  who  had  been  dead,  once  again  stirred — and 
now  more  vigorously  than  hitherto,  although  arousing 
from  a  dissolution  more  appalling  in  its  utter  hopeless- 
ness than  any.  I  had  long  ceased  to  struggle  or  to  move, 


LIGEIA  81 

and  remained  sitting  rigidly  upon  the  ottoman,  a  help- 
less prey  to  a  whirl  of  violent  emotions,  of  which  ex- 
treme awe  was  perhaps  the  least  terrible,  the  least  con- 
suming. The  corpse,  I  repeat,  stirred,  and  now  more 
vigorously  than  before.  The  hues  of  life  flushed  up 
with  unwonted  energy  into  the  countenance,  the  limbs 
relaxed,  and,  save  that  the  eyelids  were  yet  pressed 
heavily  together  and  that  the  bandages  and  draperies 
of  the  grave  still  imparted  their  charnel  character  to 
the  figure,  I  might  have  dreamed  that  Rowena  had  in- 
deed shaken  off  utterly  the  fetters  of  Death.  But  if 
this  idea  was  not  even  then  altogether  adopted,  I  could 
at  least  doubt  no  longer,  when  arising  from  the  bed, 
tottering,  with  feeble  steps,  with  closed  eyes,  and  with 
the  manner  of  one  bewildered  in  a  dream,  the  thing  that 
was  enshrouded  advanced  boldly  and  palpably  into  the 
middle  of  the  apartment. 

I  trembled  not — I  stirred  not — for  a  crowd  of  un- 
utterable fancies  connected  with  the  air,  the  stature, 
the  demeanor  of  the  figure,  rushing  hurriedly  through 
my  brain,  had  paralyzed — had  chilled  me  into  stone. 
I  stirred  not — but  gazed  upon  the  apparition.  There 
was  a  mad  disorder  in  my  thoughts — a  tumult  unap- 
peasable. Could  it,  indeed,  be  the  living  Rowena  who 
confronted  me?  Could  it  indeed  be  Rowena  at  all — 
the  fair-haired,  the  blue-eyed  Lady  Rowena  Trevanion 
of  Tremaine?  Why,  why  should  I  doufrt  it?  The 
bandage  lay  heavily  about  the  mouth — but  then  might 
it  not  be  the  mouth  of  the  breathing  Lady  of  Tremaine? 
And  the  cheeks — there  were  the  roses  as  in  her  noon  of 
life — yes,  these  might  indeed  be  the  fair  cheeks  of  the 
living  Lady  of  Tremaine.  And  the  chin,  with  its  dim- 


82        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

pies,  as  in  health,  might  it  not  be  hers? — but  had  she 
then  grown  taller  since  her  malady?  What  inexpressi- 
ble madness  seized  me  with  that  thought!  One  bound, 
and  I  had  reached  her  feet.  Shrinking  from  my  touch 
she  let  fall  from  her  head,  unloosened,  the  ghastly  cere- 
ments which  had  confined  it,  and  there  streamed  forth 
into  the  rushing  atmosphere  of  the  chamber  huge  masses 
of  long  and  dishevelled  hair;  it  was  blacker  than  the 
raven  wings  of  midnight!  And  now  slowly  opened  the 
eyes  of  the  figure  which  stood  before  me.  "Here  then, 
at  least/7  I  shrieked  aloud,  "can  I  never — can  I  never 
be  mistaken — these  are  the  full  and  the  black,  and  the 
wild  eyes  of  my  lost  love — of  the  Lady — of  the  LADY 

LlGEIA/' 


THE  SYLPH  AND  THE  FATHER* 

BY  ELSA  BARKER 

PASSING  yesterday  along  the  line  where  the  great 
French  army  stands  before  its  powerful  oppo- 
nent, and  marking  the  spirit  of  courage  and  as- 
piration which  makes  it  seem  like  a  long  line  of  living 
light,  I  saw  a  familiar  face  in  the  regions  outside  the 
physical. 

I  paused,  highly  pleased  at  the  encounter,  and  the 
sylph — for  it  was  a  sylph  whom  I  met — paused  also 
with  a  little  smile  of  recognition. 

Do  you  recall  in  my  former  book  the  story  of  a  sylph, 
Meriline,  who  was  the  companion  and  familiar  of  a 
student  of  magic  who  lived  in  the  rue  de  Vaugirard  in 
Paris  ? 

It  was  Meriline  that  I  met  above  the  line  of  light 
which  shows  to  wanderers  in  the  astral  regions  where 
the  soldiers  of  la  ~belle  France  fight  and  die  for  the  same 
ideal  which  inspired  Jeanne  d'Arc — to  drive  the  for- 
eigner out  of  France. 

" Where  is  your  friend  and  master?"  I  asked  the 
sylph,  and  she  pointed  below  to  a  trench  which  spoke 
loud  its  determination  to  conquer. 

*By  permission  of  the  author  of  War  Letters  of  the  Living 
Dead  Man  and  Mitchell  Kennerley. 

83 


84        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

"I  am  here,  to  be  still  with  him/'  she  said. 

"And  can  you  speak  to  him  here?"  I  asked. 

"I  can  always  speak  with  him,"  she  answered.  "I 
have  been  very  useful  to  him — and  to  France." 

" To  France?"  I  enquired,  with  growing  interest. 

"Oh,  yes!  When  his  commanding  officer  wants  to 
know  what  is  being  plotted  over  there,  he  often  asks 
my  friend,  and  my  friend  asks  me." 

"Truly,"  I  thought,  "the  French  are  an  inspired 
people,  when  the  officers  of  armies  ask  guidance  from 
the  realm  of  the  invisible!  But  had  not  Jeanne  her 
visions  ? ' ' 

"And  how  do  you  gain  the  information  desired?"  I 
asked,  drawing  nearer  to  Meriline,  who  seemed  more 
serious  than  when  we  met  some  years  before  in  Paris. 

* ' Why, ' '  she  answered,  "I  go  over  there  and  look 
around  me.  I  have  learned  what  to  look  for,  he  has 
taught  me,  and  when  I  bring  him  news  he  rewards  me 
with  more  love." 

"And  do  you  love  him  still,  as  of  old?" 

"As  of  old?" 

"Yes,  as  you  did  back  there  in  Paris." 

"Time  must  have  passed  slowly  with  you,"  said  the 
sylph,  "if  you  call  a  few  years  ago  'as  of  old'." 

"Are  a  few  years,  then,  as  nothing?" 

"A  few  years  are  as  nothing  to  me,"  she  replied.  "I 
have  lived  a  long  time." 

"And  do  you  know  the  future  of  your  friend?"  I 
asked. 

A  puzzled  look  came  over  the  face  of  Meriline,  and 
she  said,  slowly: 

"I  used  to  know  everything  that  would  happen  to 


THE  SYLPH  AND  THE  FATHER      85 

him,  because  I  could  read  his  will,  and  whatever  he 
willed  came  to  pass;  but  since  we  have  been  out  here 
he  seems  to  have  lost  his  will." 

"Lost  his  will!"  I  exclaimed,  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  lost  his  will;  for  he  prays  continually  to  a 
great  Being  whom  he  loves  far  more  than  me,  and  he 
always  prays  one  prayer,  'Thy  will  be  done!'  It  used 
to  be  his  will  which  was  always  done;  but  now,  as  I 
say,  he  seems  to  have  lost  his  will." 

"Perhaps,"  I  said,  "it  is  true  of  the  will  as  was  once 
said  of  the  life,  and  he  that  loses  his  will  shall  find  it. ' ' 

"I  hope  he  will  find  it  soon,"  she  answered,  "for  in 
the  old  days  he  was  always  giving  me  interesting  things 
to  do,  to  help  him  achieve  the  purposes  of  his  will,  and 
now  he  only  sends  me  over  there.  I  don't  like  over 
there!" 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  my  friend  is  menaced  by  something  over 
there." 

"And  what  has  his  will  to  do  with  that?" 

"Why,  even  about  that,  he  says  all  day  to  the  great 
Being  that  he  loves  so  much  more  than  me,  'Thy  will 
be  done.'  " 

"Do  you  think  you  could  learn  to  say  it,  too?"  I 
asked. 

' '  I  say  it  after  him  sometimes ;  but  I  don 't  know  what 
it  means. ' ' 

"Have  you  never  heard  of  God?" 

"I  have  heard  of  many  gods,  of  Isis  and  Osiris  and 
Set,  and  of  Horus,  the  son  of  Osiris." 

"And  is  it  to  one  of  these  that  he  says,  'Thy  will  be 
done'?" 


86        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

"Oh,  no !  It  is  not  to  any  of  the  gods  that  he  used  to 
call  upon  in  his  magical  working.  This  is  some  new  god 
that  he  has  found." 

"Or  the  oldest  of  all  gods  that  he  has  returned  to," 
I  suggested.  "What  does  he  call  Him?" 

"Our  Father  who  art  in  heaven." 

"If  you  also  should  learn  to  say  "Thy  will  be  done' 
to  our  Father  who  is  in  heaven,"  I  said,  "it  might  help 
you  toward  the  attainment  of  that  soul  you  were  want- 
ing and  waiting  for,  when  last  we  met  in  Paris." 

"How  could  our  Father  help  me?" 

1 '  It  was  He  who  gave  souls  to  men, ' '  I  said. 

The  eyes  of  the  sylph  were  brilliant  with  something 
almost  human. 

"And  could  He  give  a  soul  to  me?" 

"It  is  said  that  He  can  do  anything." 

"Then  I  will  ask  Him  for  a  soul." 

"But  to  ask  Him  for  a  soul,"  I  said,  "is  not  to  pray 
the  prayer  your  friend  prays." 

"He  only  says " 

"Yes,  I  know.     Suppose  you  say  it  after  him." 

"I  will,  if  you  will  tell  me  what  it  means.  I  like  to 
do  what  my  friend  does." 

"  'Thy  will  be  done/  "  I  said,  "when  addressed  to 
the  Father  in  heaven,  means  that  we  give  up  all  our 
desires,  whether  for  pleasure  or  love  or  happiness,  or 
anything  else,  and  lay  all  those  desires  at  His  feet,  sacri- 
ficing all  we  have  or  hope  for  to  Him,  because  we  love 
Him  more  than  ourselves." 

' '  That  is  a  strange  way  to  get  what  one  desires, ' '  she 
said. 

"It  is  not  done  to  get  what  one  desires,"  I  answered. 


THE  SYLPH  AND  THE  FATHER      87 

"But  what  is  it  done  for?" 

"For  love  of  the  Father  in  heaven." 

"But  I  do  not  know  the  Father  in  heaven.  What  is 
He?" 

"He  is  the  Source  and  the  Goal  of  the  being  of  your 
friend.  He  is  the  One  that  your  friend  will  re-become 
some  day,  if  he  can  forever  say  to  Him,  Thy  will  be 
done."  * 

"The  One  he  will  re-become?" 

"Yes,  for  when  he  blends  his  will  with  that  of  the 
Father  in  heaven,  the  Father  in  heaven  dwells  in  his 
heart  and  the  two  become  one." 

"Then  is  the  Father  in  heaven  really  the  Self  of  my 
friend?" 

"The  greatest  philosopher  could  not  have  expressed 
it  more  truly,"  I  said. 

"Then  indeed  do  I  love  the  Father  in  heaven," 
breathed  the  sylph,  "and  I  will  say  now  every  day  and 
all  day,  'Thy  will  be  done'  to  Him." 

1 '  Even  if  it  separates  you  from  your  friend  ? ' ' 

"How  can  it  separate  me  from  my  friend,  if  the  Fa- 
ther is  the  Self  of  him?" 

"I  would  that  all  angels  were  your  equal  in  learning," 
I  said. 

But  Meriline  had  turned  from  me  in  utter  forgetful- 
ness,  and  was  saying  over  and  over,  with  joy  in,  her  up- 
lifted face,  "Thy  will  be  done!  Thy  will  be  done!" 

"Truly,"  I  said  to  myself,  as  I  passed  along  the  line, 
"he  who  worships  the  Father  as  the  Self  of  the  beloved 
has  already  acquired  a  soul." 


A  GHOST  * 

BY  LAPCADIO  HUABN 


PERHAPS  the  man  who  never  wanders  away  from 
the  place  of  his  birth  may  pass  all  his  life  with- 
out knowing  ghosts;  but  the  nomad  is  mope 
than  likely  to  make  their  acquaintance.  I  refer  to  the 
civilized  nomad,  whose  wanderings  are  not  prompted 
by  hope  of  gain,  nor  determined  by  pleasure,  but  simply 
compelled  by  certain  necessities  of  his  being — the  man 
whose  inner  secret  nature  is  totally  at  variance  with 
the  stable  conditions  of  a  society  to  which  he  belongs 
only  by  accident.  However  intellectually  trained,  he 
must  always  remain  the  slave  of  singular  impulses 
which  have  no  rational  source,  and  which  will  often 
amaze  him  no  less  by  their  mastering  power  than  by 
their  continuous  savage  opposition  to  his  every  material 
interest.  These  may,  perhaps,  be  traced  back  to  some 
ancestral  habit — be  explained  by  self-evident  heredi- 
tary tendencies.  Or  perhaps  they  may  not, — in  which 
event  the  victim  can  only  surmise  himself  the  Imago  of 
some  pre-existent  larval  aspiration — the  full  develop- 
ment of  desires  long  dormant  in  a  chain  of  more  limited 
lives. 

Assuredly  the  nomadic  impulses  differ  in  every  mem- 
ber .  of  the  class,  take  infinite  variety  from  individual 
*From  Karma  (Boni  &  Liveright). 

88 


A  GHOST  89 

sensitiveness  to  environment — the  line  of  least  resistance 
for  one  being  that  of  greatest  resistance  for  another ;  no 
two  courses  of  true  nomadism  can  ever  be  wholly  the 
same.  Diversified  of  necessity  both  impulse  and  di- 
rection, even  as  human  nature  is  diversified!  Never 
since  consciousness  of  time  began  were  two  beings  born 
who  possessed  exactly  the  same  quality  of  voice,  the 
same  precise  degree  of  nervous  impressibility,  or,  in 
brief,  the  same  combination  of  those  viewless  force-stor- 
ing molecules  which  shape  and  poise  themselves  in  senti- 
ent substance.  Vain,  therefore,  all  striving  to  particu- 
larize the  curious  psychology  of  such  existences;  at  the 
very  utmost  it  is  possible  only  to  describe  such  impulses 
and  preceptions  of  nomadism  as  lie  within  the  very 
small  range  of  one's  own  observation.  And  whatever 
in  these  is  strictly  personal  can  have  little  interest  or 
value  except  in  so  far  as  it  holds  something  in  common 
with  the  great  general  experience  of  restless  lives.  To 
such  experience  may  belong,  I  think,  one  ultimate  result 
of  all  those  irrational  partings,  self-wrecking,  sudden 
isolations,  abrupt  severances  from  all  attachment,  which 
form  the  history  of  the  nomad — the  knowledge  that  a 
strong  silence  is  ever  deepening  and  expanding  about 
one's  life,  and  that  in  that  silence  there  are  ghosts. 


II 

Oh !  the  first  vague  charm,  the  first  sunny  illusion  of 
some  fair  city,  when  vistas  of  unknown  streets  all  seem 
leading  to  thei  realization  of  a  hope  you  dare  not  even 
whisper;  when  even  the  shadows  look  beautiful,  and 


90        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

strange  facades  appear  to  smile  good  omen  through 
light  of  gold!  And  those  first  winning  relations  with 
men,  while  you  are  still  a  stranger,  and  only  the  bet- 
ter and  the  brighter  side  of  their  nature  is  turned  to 
you!  All  is  yet  a  delightful,  luminous  indefiniteness — 
sensation  of  streets  and  of  men — like  some  beautifully 
tinted  photograph  slightly  out  of  focus. 

Then  the  slow  solid  sharpening  of  details  all  about 
you,  thrusting  through  illusion  and  dispelling  it,  grow- 
ing keener  and  harder  day  by  day  through  long  dull 
seasons;  while  your  feet  learn  to  remember  all  asperi- 
ties of  pavements,  and  your  eyes  all  physiognomy  of 
buildings  and  of  persons — failures  of  masonry,  furrowed 
lines  of  pain.  Thereafter  only  the  aching  of  monotony 
intolerable,  and  the  hatred  of  sameness  grown  dismal, 
and  dread  of  the  merciless,  inevitable,  daily  and  hourly 
repetition  of  things;  while  those  impulses  o2  unrest, 
which  are  Nature's  urgings  through  that  ancestral  ex- 
perience which  lives  in  each  one  of  us — outcries  of  sea 
and  peak  and  sky  to  man — ever  make  wilder  appeal. 
Strong  friendships  may  have  been  formed;  but  there 
finally  comes  a  day  when  even  these  can  give  no  con- 
solation for  the  pain  of  monotony,  and  you  feel  that  in 
order  to  live  you  must  decide,  regardless  of  result,  to 
shake  forever  from  your  feet  the  familiar  dust  of  that 
place. 

And,  nevertheless,  in  the  hour  of  departure  you  feel 
a  pang.  As  train  or  steamer  bears  you  away  from  the 
city  and  its  myriad  associations,  the  old  illusive  im- 
pression will  quiver  back  about  you  for  a  moment — 
not  as  if  to  mock  the  expectation  of  the  past,  but  softly, 
touchingly,  as  if  pleading  to  you  to  stay;  and  such  a 


A  GHOST  91 

sadness,  such  a  tenderness  may  come  to  you,  as  one 
knows  after  reconciliation  with  a  friend  misapprehended 
and  unjustly  judged.  But  you  will  never  more  see 
those  streets — except  in  dreams. 

Through  sleep  only  they  will  open  again  before  you, 
steeped  in  the  illusive  vagueness  of  the  first  long-past 
day,  peopled  only  by  friends  outstretching  to  you. 
Soundlessly  you  will  tread  those  shadowy  pavements 
many  times,  to  knock  in  thought,  perhaps,  at  doors 
which  the  dead  will  open  to  you.  But  with  the  passing 
of  years  all  becomes  dim — so  dim  that  even  asleep  you 
know  'tis  only  a  ghost-city,  with  streets  going  to  no- 
where. And  finally  whatever  *is  left  of  it  becomes  con- 
fused and  blended  with  cloudy  memories  of  other  cities 
— one  endless  bewilderment  of  filmy  architecture  in 
which  nothing  is  distinctly  recognizable,  though  the 
whole  gives  the  sensation  of  having  been  seen  before, 
ever  so  long  ago. 

Meantime,  in  the  course  of  wanderings  more  or  less 
aimless,  there  has  slowly  grown  upon  you  a  suspicion 
of  being  haunted — so  frequently  does  a  certain  hazy 
presence  intrude  itself  upon  the  visual  memory.  This, 
however,  appears  to  gain  rather  than  to  lose  in  definite- 
ness;  with  each  return  its  visibility  seems  to  increase. 
And  the  suspicion  that  you  may  be  haunted  gradually 
develops  into  a  certainty. 

Ill 

You  are  haunted — whether  your  way  lie  through  the 
brown  gloom  of  London  winter,  or  the  azure  splendor 


92        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

of  an  equatorial  day — whether  your  steps  be  tracked 
in  snows,  or  in  the  burning  black  sand  of  a  tropic  beach 
— whether  you  rest  beneath  the  swart  shade  of  Northern 
pines,  or  under  spidery  umbrages  of  palm — you  are 
haunted  ever  and  everywhere  by  a  certain  gentle  pres- 
ence. There  is  nothing  fearsome  in  this  haunting — the 
gentlest  face,  the  kindliest  voice — oddly  familiar  and 
distinct,  though  feeble  as  the  hum  of  a  bee. 

But  it  tantalizes — this  haunting — like  those  sudden 
surprises  of  sensation  within  us,  though  seemingly  not 
of  us,  which  some  dreamers  have  sought  to  interpret  as 
inherited  remembrances,  recollections  of  preexistence. 
Vainly  you  ask  yourself,  " Whose  voice?  Whose  face?" 
It  is  neither  young  nor  old,  the  Face;  it  has  a  vapory 
indefmableness  that  leaves  it  a  riddle;  its  diaphaneity 
reveals  no  particular  tint;  perhaps  you  may  not  even 
be  quite  sure  whether  it  has  a  beard.  But  its  expres- 
sion is  always  gracious,  passionless,  smiling — like  the 
smiling  of  unknown  friends  in  dreams,  with  infinite  in- 
dulgence for  any  folly,  even  a  dream-folly.  Except  in 
that  you  cannot  permanently  banish  it,  the  presence 
offers  no  positive  resistance  to  your  will ;  it  accepts  each 
caprice  with  obedience ;  it  meets  your  every  whim  with 
angelic  patience.  It  is  never  critical,  never  makes  plaint 
even  by  a  look,  never  proves  irksome;  yet  you  cannot 
ignore  it,  because  of  a  certain  queer  power  it  possesses 
to  make  something  stir  and  quiver  in  your  heart — like 
an  old  vague  sweet  regret — something  buried  alive 
which  will  not  die.  And  so  often  does  this  happen  that 
desire  to  solve  the  riddle  becomes  a  pain;  that  you 
finally  find  yourself  making  supplication  to  the  Pres- 
ence; addressing  to  it  questions  which  it  will  never  an- 


A  GHOST  93 

swer  directly,  but  only  by  a  smile  or  by  words  having 
no  relation  to  the  asking — words  enigmatic,  which  make 
mysterious  agitation  in  old  forsaken  fields  of  memory, 
even  as  a  wind  betimes,  over  wide  wastes  of  marsh,  sets 
all  the  grasses  whispering  about  nothing.  But  you  will 
question  on,  untiringly,  through  the  nights  and  days  of 
years : 

4 'Who  are  you?  What  are  you?  What  is  this  weird 
relation  that  you  bear  to  me  ?  All  you  say  to  me  I  feel 
that  I  have  heard  before,  but  where?  But  when?  By 
what  name  am  I  to  call  you,  since  you  will  answer  to 
none  that  I  remember?  Surely  you  do  not  live;  yet  I 
know  the  sleeping-places  of  all  my  dead,  and  yours  I 
do  not  know!  Neither  are  you  any  dream — for  dreams 
distort  and  change;  and  you,  you  are  ever  the  same. 
Nor  are  you  any  hallucination;  for  all  my  senses  are 
still  vivid  and  strong.  This  only  I  know  beyond  doubt 
• — that  you  are  of  the  Past ;  you  belong  to  memory — but 
to  the  memory  of  what  dead  suns?" 

Then,  some  day  or  night,  unexpectedly,  there  comes  to 
you  at  least,  with  a  soft  swift  tingling  shock  as  of  fin- 
gers invisible,  the  knowledge  that  the  Face  is  not  the 
memory  of  any  one  face;  but  a  multiple  image  formed 
of  the  traits  of  many  dear  faces,  superimposed  by  re- 
membrance, and  interblended  by  affection  into  one 
ghostly  personality — infinitely  sympathetic,  phantas- 
mally  beautiful — a  Composite  of  recollections !  And  the 
Voice  is  the  echo  of  no  one  voice,  but  the  echoing  of 
many  voices,  molten  into  a  single  utterance,  a  single 
impossible  tone,  thin  through  remoteness  of  time,  but 
inexpressibly  caressing. 


94        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOKIES 

IV 

Thou  most  gentle  Composite ! — thou  nameless  and  ex- 
quisite Unreality,  thrilled  into  semblance  of  being  from 
out  the  sum  of  all  lost  sympathies! — thou  Ghost  of  all 
dear  vanished  things,  with  thy  vain  appeal  of  eyes  that 
looked  for  my  coming,  and  vague  faint  pleading  of 
voices  against  oblivion,  and  thin  electric  touch  of  buried 
hands — must  thou  pass  away  forever  with  my  passing, 
even  as  the  Shadow  that  I  cast,  0  thou  Shadowing  of 
Souls? 

I  am  not  sure.  For  there  comes  to  me  this  dream — 
that  if  aught  in  human  life  hold  power  to  pass,  like  a 
swerved  sunray  through  interstellar  spaces,  into  the  in- 
finite mystery,  to  send  one  sweet  strong  vibration 
through  immemorial  Time,  might  not  some  luminous 
future  be  peopled  with  such  as  thou?  And  in  so  far 
as  that  which  makes  for  us  the  subtlest  charm  of  being 
can  lend  one  choral  note  to  the  Symphony  of  the  Un- 
knowable Purpose — in  so  much  might  there  not  endure 
also  to  greet  thee,  another  Composite  One — embodying, 
indeed,  the  comeliness  of  many  lives,  yet  keeping  like- 
wise some  visible  memory  of  all  that  may  have  been 
gracious  in  this  thy  friend? 


THE  EYES  OF  THE  PANTHER* 

BY  AMBROSE  BIERCE 

I 
ONE   DOES   NOT   ALWAYS    MARRY   WHEN  INSANE 

A  MAN  and  a  woman — nature  had  done  the  group- 
ing— sat  on  a  rustic  seat,  in  the  late  afternoon. 
The  man  was  middle-aged,  slender,  swarthy, 
with  the  expression  of  a  poet  and  the  complexion  of  a 
pirate — a  man  at  whom  one  would  look  again.  The 
woman  was  young,  blonde,  graceful,  with  something  in 
her  figure  and  movements  suggesting  the  word  "lithe." 
She  was  habited  in  a  gray  gown  with  odd  brown  mark- 
ings in  the  texture.  She  may  have  been  beautiful ;  one 
could  not  readily  say,  for  her  eyes  denied  attention  to 
all  else.  They  were  gray-green,  long  and  narrow,  with 
an  expression  defying  analysis.  One  could  only  know 
that  they  were  disquieting.  Cleopatra  may  have  had 
such  eyes. 

The  man  and  the  woman  talked. 

"Yes,"  said  the  woman,  "I  love  you,  God  knows! 
But  marry  you,  no.     I  cannot,  will  not." 

"Irene,  you  have  said  that  many  times,  yet  always 
have  denied  me  a  reason.     I've  a  right  to  know,  to  un- 

From  "In  the  Midst  of  Life"  (Boni  &  Liveright). 

95 


96         THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

derstand,  to  feel  and  prove  my  fortitude  if  I  have  it. 
Give*  me  a  reason.", 

"For  loving  you?" 

The  woman  was  smiling  through  her  tears  and  her 
pallor.  That  did  not  stir  any  sense  of  humor  in  the 
man. 

"No;  there  is  no  reason  for  that.  A  reason  for  not 
marrying  me.  I've  a  right  to  know.  I  must  know.  I 
will  know!" 

He  had  risen  and  was  standing  before  her  with 
clenched  hands,  on  his  face  a  frown — it  might  have 
been  called  a  scowl.  He  looked  as  if  he  might  attempt  to 
learn  by  strangling  her.  She  smiled  no  more — merely 
sat  looking  up  into  his  face  with  a  fixed,  set  regard  that 
was  utterly  without  emotion  or  sentiment.  Yet  it  had 
something  in  it  that  tamed  his  resentment  and  made 
him  shiver. 

"You  are  determined  to  have  my  reason?"  she  asked 
in  a  tone  that  was  entirely  mechanical — a  tone  that 
might  have  been  her  look  made  audible. 

"If  you  please — if  I'm  not  asking  too  much." 

Apparently  this  lord  of  creation  was  yielding  some 
part  of  his  dominion  over  his  co-creature. 

* '  Very  well,  you  shall  know :  I  am  insane. ' ' 

The  man  started,  then  looked  incredulous  and  was 
conscious  that  he  ought  to  be  amused.  But,  again,  the 
sense  of  humor  failed  him  in  his  need  and  despite  his 
disbelief  he  was  profoundly  disturbed  by  that  which 
he  did  not  believe.  Between  our  convictions  and  our 
feelings  there  is  no  good  understanding. 

'  *  That  is  what  the  physicians  would  say, ' '  the  woman 
continued,  "if  they  knew.  I  might  myself  prefer  to 


THE  EYES  OF  THE  PANTHER        97 

call  it  a  case  of  'possession/    Sit  down  and  hear 'what 
I  have  to  say. ' '  » 

The  man  silently  resumed  his  seat  beside  her  on  the 
rustic  beffch  by  the  wayside.  Over  against  them  on 
the  eastern  side  of  the  valley  the  hills  were  already 
sunset-flushed  and  the  stillness  all  about  was  of  that 
peculiar  quality  that  foretells  the  twilight.  Something 
of  its  mysterious  and  significant  solemnity  had  imparted 
itself  to  the  man 's  mood.  In  the  spiritual,  as  in  the  ma- 
terial world,  are  signs  and  presages  of  night.  Rarely 
meeting  her  look,  and  whenever  he!  did  so  conscious  of 
the  indefinable  dread  with  which,  despite  their  feline 
beauty,  her  eyes  always  affected  him,  Jenner  Brading 
listened  in  silence  to  the  story  told  by  Irene  Marlowe. 
In  deference  to  the  reader's  possible  prejudice  against 
the  artless  method  of  an  unpracticed  historian  the  au- 
thor ventures  to  substitute  his  own  version  for  hers. 


II 


A  ROOM  MAY  BE  TOO  NARROW  FOR  THREE,  THOUGH  ONE  IS 

OUTSIDE 

In  a  little  log  house  containing  a  single  room  sparely 
and  rudely  furnished,  crouching  on  the  floor  against  one 
of  the  walls,  was  a  woman,  clasping  to  her  breast  a  child. 
Outside,  a  dense  unbroken  forest  extended  for  many 
miles  in  every  direction.  This  was  at  night  and  the 
room  was  black  dark;  no  human  eye  could  have  dis- 
cerned the  woman  and  the  child.  Yet  they  were  ob- 
served, narrowly,  vigilantly,  with  never  even  a  momen- 


98        THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

tary  slackening  of  attention;  and  that  is  the  pivotal 
fact  upon  which  this  narrative  turns. 

Charles  Marlowe  was  of  the  class,  now  extinct  in  this 
country,  of  woodmen  pioneers — men  who  found  their 
most  acceptable  surroundings  in  sylvan  solitudes  that 
stretched  along  the  eastern  slope  of  the  Mississippi  Val- 
ley, from  the  Great  Lakes  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  For 
more  than  a  hundred  years  these  men  pushed  ever  west- 
ward, generation  after  generation,  with  rifle  and  ax, 
reclaiming  from  Nature  and  her  savage  children  here 
and  there  an  isolated  acreage  for  the  plow,  no  sooner 
reclaimed  than  surrendered  to  their  less  venturesome 
but  more  thrifty  successors.  At  last  they  burst  through 
the  edge  of  the  forest  into  the  open  country  and  van- 
ished as  if  they  had  fallen  over  a  cliff.  The  woodman 
pioneer  is  no  more ;  the  pioneer  of  the  plains — he  whose 
easy  task  it  was  to  subdue  for  occupancy  two-thirds  of 
the  country  in  a  single  generation — is  another  and  in- 
ferior creation.  With  Charles  Marlowe  in  the  wilder- 
ness, sharing  the  dangers,  hardships  and  privations  of 
that  strange  unprofitable  life,  were  his  wife  and  child, 
to  whom,  in  the  manner  of  his  class  in  which  the  do- 
mestic virtues  were  a  religion,  he  was  passionately  at- 
tached. The  woman  was  still  young  enough  to  be 
comely,  new  enough  to  the  awful  isolation  of  her  lot 
to  be  cheerful.  By  withholding  the  large  capacity  for 
happiness  which  the  simple  satisfactions  of  the  forest 
life  could  not  have  filled,  Heaven  had  dealt  honorably 
with  her.  In  her  light  household  tasks,  her  child,  her 
husband  and  her  few  foolish  books,  she  found  abundant 
provision  for  her  needs. 

One  morning  in  midsummer  Marlowe  took  down  his 


THE  EYES  OF  THE  PANTHER        99 

rifle  from  the  wooden  hooks  on  the  wall  and  signified 
his  intention  of  getting  game. 

" We've  meat  enough,"  said  the  wife;  "please  don't 
go  out  to-day.  I  dreamed  last  night,  0,  such  a  dread- 
ful thing!  I  cannot  recollect  it,  but  I'm  almost  sure 
that  it  will  come  to  pass  if  you  go  out." 

It  is  painful  to  confess  that  Marlowe  received  this 
solemn  statement  with  less  of  gravity  than  was  due  to 
the  mysterious  nature  of  the  calamity  foreshadowed. 
In  truth,  he  laughed. 

4 'Try  to  remember,"  he  said.  " Maybe  you  dreamed 
that  Baby  had  lost  the  power  of  speech." 

The  conjecture  was  obviously  suggested  by  the  fact 
that  Baby,  clinging  to  the  fringe  of  his  hunting-coat  with 
all  her  ten  pudgy  thumbs,  was  at  that  moment  uttering 
her  sense  of  the  situation  in  a  series  of  exultant  goo-goos 
inspired  by  sight  of  her  father's  raccoon-skin  cap. 

The  woman  yielded:  lacking  the  gift  of  humor  she 
could  not  hold  out  against  his  kindly  badinage.  So, 
with  a  kiss  for  the  mother  and  a  kiss  for  the  child,  he 
left  the  house  and  closed  the  door  upon  his  happiness 
forever. 

At  nightfall  he  had  not  returned.  The  woman  pre- 
pared supper  and  waited.  Then  she  put  Baby  to  bed 
and  sang  softly  to  her  until  she  slept.  By  this  time  the 
fire  on  the  hearth,  at  which  she  had  cooked  supper,  had 
burned  out  and  the  room  was  lighted  by  a  single  candle. 
This  she  afterward  placed  in  the  open  window  as  a  sign 
and  welcome  to  the  hunter  if  he  should  approach  from 
that  side.  She  had  thoughtfully  closed  and  barred  the 
door  against  such  wild  animals  as  might  prefer  it  to  an 
open  window — of  the  habits  of  beasts  of  prey  in  enter- 


100       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

ing  a  house  uninvited  she  was  not  advised,  though  with 
true  female  prevision  she  may  have  considered  the  pos- 
sibility of  their  entrance  by  way  of  the  chimney.  As 
the  night  wore  on  she  became  not  less  anxious,  but  more 
drowsy,  and  at  last  rested  her  arms  upon  the  bed  by 
the  child  and  her  head  upon  the  arms.  The  candle  in 
the  window  burned  down  to  the  socket,  sputtered  and 
flared  a  moment  and  went  out  unobserved;  for  the 
woman  slept  and  dreamed. 

In  her  dreams  she  sat  beside  the  cradle  of  a  second 
child.  The  first  one  was  dead.  The  father  was  dead. 
The  home  in  the  forest  was  lost  and  the  dwelling  in 
which  she  lived  was  unfamiliar.  There  were  heavy 
oaken  doors,  always  closed,  and  outside  the  windows, 
fastened  into  the  thick  stone  walls,  were  iron  bars,  ob- 
viously (so  she  thought)  a  provision  against  Indians. 
All  this  she  noted  with  an  infinite  self-pity,  but  without 
surprise — an  emotion  unknown  in  dreams.  The  child 
in  the  cradle  was  invisible  under  its  coverlet  which  some- 
thing impelled  her  to  remove.  She  did  so,  disclosing 
the  face  of  a  wild  animal!  In  the  shock  of  this  dread- 
ful revelation  the  dreamer  awoke,  trembling  in  the 
darkness  of  her  cabin  in  the  wood. 

As  a  sense  of  her  actual  surroundings  came  slowly 
back  to  her  she  felt  for  the  child  that  was  not  a  dream, 
and  assured  herself  by  its  breathing  that  all  was  well 
with  it;  nor  could  she  forbear  to  pass  a  hand  lightly 
across  its  face.  Then,  moved  by  some  impulse  for 
which  she  probably  could  not  have  accounted,  she  rose 
and  took  the  sleeping  babe  in  her  arms,  holding  it  close 
against  her  breast.  The  head  of  the  child's  cot  was 
against  the  wall  to  which  the  woman  now  turned  her 


THE  EYES  OF  THE  PANTHER   101 

back  as  she  stood.  Lifting  her  eyes  she  saw  two  bright 
objects  starring  the  darkness  with  a  reddish-green  glow. 
She  took  them  to  be  two  coals  on  the  hearth,  but  with 
her  returning  sense  of  direction  came  the  disquieting 
consciousness  that  they  were  not  in  that  quarter  of  the 
room,  moreover  were  too  high,  being  nearly  at  the  level 
of  the  eyes — of  her  own  eyes.  For  these  were  the  eyes 
of  a  panther. 

The  beast  was  at  the  open  window  directly  opposite 
and  not  five  paces  away.  Nothing  but  those  terrible 
eyes  was  visible,  but  in  the  dreadful  tumult  of  her  feel- 
ings as  the  situation  disclosed  itself  to  her  understand- 
ing she  somehow  knew  that  the  animal  was  standing  on 
its  hinder  feet,  supporting  itself  with  its  paws  on  the 
window-ledge.  That  signified  a  malign  interest — not 
the  mere  gratification  of  an  indolent  curiosity.  The 
consciousness  of  the  attitude  was  an  added  horror,  ac- 
centuating the  menace  of  those  awful  eyes,  in  whose 
steadfast  fire  her  strength  and  courage  were  alike  con- 
sumed. Under  their  silent  questioning  she  shuddered 
and  turned  sick.  Her  knees  failed  her,  and  by  degrees, 
instinctively  striving  to  avoid  a  sudden  movement  that 
might  bring  the  beast  upon  her,  she  sank  to  the  floor, 
crouched  against  the  wall  and  tried  to  shield  the  babe 
with  her  trembling  body  without  withdrawing  her  gaze 
from  the  luminous  orbs  that  were  killing  her.  No 
thought  of  her1  husband  came  to  her  in  her  agony — no 
hope  nor  suggestion  of  rescue  or  escape.  Her  capacity 
for  thought  and  feeling  had  narrowed  to  the  dimensions 
of  a  single  emotion — fear  of  the  animal's  spring,  of  the 
impact  of  its  body,  the  buffeting  of  its  great  arms,  the 
feel  of  its  teeth  in  her  throat,  the  mangling  of  her  babe. 


1C2       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

Motionless  now  and  in  absolute  silence,  she  awaited  her 
doom,  the  moments  growing  to  hours,  to  years,  to  ages; 
and  still  those  devilish  eyes  maintained  their  watch. 

Returning  to  his  cabin  late  at  night  with  a  deer  on  his 
shoulders  Charles  Marlowe  tried  the  door.  It  did  not 
yield.  He  knocked;  there  was  no  answer.  He  laid 
down  his  deer  and  went  around  to  the  window.  As 
he  turned  the  angle  of  the  building  he  fancied  he  heard 
a  sound  as  of  stealthy  footfalls  and  a  rustling  in  the 
undergrowth  of  the  forest,  but  they  were  too  slight  for 
certainty,  even  to  his  practiced  ear.  Approaching  the 
window,  and  to  his  surprise  finding  it  open,  he  threw 
his  leg  over  the  sill  and  entered.  All  was  darkness  and 
silence.  He  groped  his  way  to  the  fireplace,  struck  a 
match  and  lit  a  candle.  Then  he  looked  about.  Cower- 
ing on  the  floor  against  a  wall  was  his  wife,  clasping  his 
child.  As  he  sprang  toward  her  she  rose  and  broke  into 
laughter,  long,  loud,  and  mechanical,  devoid  of  gladness 
and  devoid  of  sense — the  laughter  that  is  not  out  of 
keeping  with  the  clanking  of  a  chain.  Hardly  knowing 
what  he  did  he  extended  his  arms.  She  laid  the  babe 
in  them.  It  was  dead — pressed  to  death  in  its  mother 's 
embrace. 

Ill 

THE  THEORY  OF  THE  DEFENSE 

That  is  what  occurred  during  a  night  in  a  forest,  but 
not  all  of  it  did  Irene  Marlowe  relate  to  Jenner  Brad- 
ing  ;  not  all  of  it  was  known  to  her.  When  she  had  con- 


THE  EYES  OF  THE  PANTHER   103 

eluded  the  sun  was  below  the  horizon  and  the  long  sum- 
mer twilight  had  begun  to  deepen  in  the  hollows  of  the 
land.  For  some  moments  Brading  was  silent,  expect- 
ing the  narrative  to  be  carried  forward  to  some  definite 
connection  with  the  conversation  introducing  it ;  but  the 
narrator  was  as  silent  as  he,  her  face  averted,  her  hands 
clasping  and  unclasping  themselves  as  they  lay  in  her 
lap,  with  a  singular  suggestion  of  an  activity  independ- 
ent of  her  will. 

1  'It  is  a  sad,  a  terrible  story/'  said  Brading  at  last, 
"but  I  do  not  understand.  You  call  Charles  Marlowe 
father;  that  I  know.  That  he  is  old  before  his  time, 
broken  by  some  great  sorrow,  I  have  seen,  or  thought  I 
saw.  But,  pardon  me,  you  said  that  you — that  you — " 

"That  I  am  insane/'  said  the  girl,  without  a  move- 
ment of  head  or  body. 

"But,  Irene,  you  say — please,  dear,  do  not  look  away 
from  me — you  say  that  the  child  was  dead,  not  de- 
mented." 

"Yes,  that  one — I  am  the  second.  I  was  born  three 
months  after  that  night,  my  mother  being  mercifully 
permitted  to  lay  down  her  life  in  giving  me  mine. ' ' 

Brading  was  again  silent;  he  was  a  trifle  dazed  and 
could  not  at  once  think  of  the  right  thing  to  say.  Her 
face  was  still  turned  away.  In  his  embarrassment  he 
reached  impulsively  toward  the  hands  that  lay  closing 
and  unclosing  in  her  lap,  but  something — he  could  not 
have  said  what — restrained  him.  He  then  remembered, 
vaguely,  that  he  had  never  altogether  cared  to  take  her 
hand. 

"Is  it  likely,"  she  resumed,  "that  a  person  born  un- 


104      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

der  such  circumstances  is  like  others — is  what  you  call 
sane  ? ' ' 

Brading  did  not  reply;  he  was  preoccupied  with  a 
new  thought  that  was  taking  shape  in  his  mind — what 
a  scientist  would  have  called  an  hypothesis ;  a  detective, 
a  theory.  It  might  throw  an  added  light,  albeit  a  lurid 
one,  upon  such  doubt  of  her  sanity  as  her  own  assertion 
had  not  dispelled. 

The  country  was  still  new  and,  outside  the  villages, 
sparsely  populated.  The  professional  hunter  was  still  a 
familiar  figure,  and  among  his  trophies  were  heads  and 
pelts  of  the  larger  kinds  of  game.  Tales  variously  cred- 
ible of  nocturnal  meetings  with  savage  animals  in  lonely 
roads  were  sometimes  current,  passed  through  the  cus- 
tomary stages  of  growth  and  decay,  and  were  forgotten. 
A  recent  addition  to  these  popular  apocrypha,  originat- 
ing, apparently,  by  spontaneous  generation  in  several 
households,  was  of  a  panther  which  had  frightened  some 
of  their  members  by  looking  in  at  windows  by  night. 
The  yarn  had  caused  its  little  ripple  of  excitement — had 
even  attained  to  the  distinction  of  a  place  in  the  local 
newspaper;  but  Brading  had  gwen  it  no  attention.  Its 
likeness  to  the  story  to  which  he  had  just  listened  now 
impressed  him  as  perhaps  more  than  accidental.  Was  it 
not  possible  that  the  one  story  had  suggested  the  other 
— that  finding  congenial  conditions  in  a  morbid  mind 
and  a  fertile  fancy,  it  had  grown  to  the  tragic  tale  that 
he  had  heard? 

Brading  recalled  certain  circumstances  of  the  girl's 
history  and  disposition  of  which,  with  love 's  incuriosity, 
he  had  hitherto  been  heedless — such  as  her  solitary  life 
with  her  father,  at  whose  house  no  one  apparently  was 


THE  EYES  OF  THE  PANTHEE   105 

an  acceptable  visitor,  and  her  strange  fear  of  the  night 
by  which  those  who  knew  her  best  accounted  for  her 
never  being  seen  after  dark.  Surely  in  such  a  mind 
imagination  once  kindled  might  burn  with  a  lawless 
flame,  penetrating  and  enveloping  the  entire  structure. 
That  she  was  mad,  though  the  conviction  gave  him  the 
acutest  pain,  he  could  no  longer  doubt;  she  had  only 
mistaken  an  effect  of  her  mental  disorder  for  its  cause, 
bringing  into  imaginary  relation  with  her  own  personal- 
ity the  vagaries  of  the  local  myth-makers.  With  some 
vague  intention  of  testing  his  new  "theory,"  and  no 
very  definite  notion  of  how  to  set  about  it  he  said 
gravely,  but  with  hesitation : 

' '  Irene,  dear,  tell  me — I  beg  you  will  not  take  offense, 
but  tell  me— " 

"I  have  told  you,"  she  interrupted,  speaking  with  a 
passionate  earnestness  that  he  had  not  known  her  to 
show,  "I  have  already  told  you  that  we  cannot  marry; 
is  anything  else  worth  saying  ? ' ' 

Before  he  could  stop  her  she  had  sprung  from  her 
seat  and  without  another  word  or  look  was  gliding  away 
among  the  trees  toward  her  father's  house.  Brading 
had  risen  to  detain  her ;  he  stood  watching  her  in  silence 
until  she  had  vanished  in  the  gloom.  Suddenly  he 
started  as  if  he  had  been  shot,  his  face  took  on  an  ex- 
pression of  amazement  and  alarm:  in  one  of  the  black 
shadows  into  which  she  had  disappeared  he  had  caught  a 
quick,  brief  glimpse  of  shining  eyes !  For  an  instant  he 
was  dazed  and  irresolute ;  then  he  dashed  into  the  wood 
after  her,  shouting,  "Irene,  Irene,  look  out!  The  pan- 
ther! The  panther!" 

In  a  moment  he  had  passed  through  the  fringe  of  for- 


106      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

est  into  open  ground  and  saw  the  girl's  gray  skirt  van- 
ishing into  her  father 's  door.    No  panther  was  visible. 


IV 

AN  APPEAL  TO  THE   CONSCIENCE  OF  8OD 

Jenner  Brading,  attorney-at-law,  lived  in  a  cottage  at 
the  edge  of  the  town.  Directly  behind  the  dwelling  was 
the  forest.  Being  a  bachelor,  and  therefore  by  the  Dra- 
conian moral  code  of  the  time  and  place  denied  the 
services  of  the  only  species  of  domestic  servant  known 
thereabout,  the  l( hired  girl/'  he  boarded  at  the  village 
hotel  where  also  was  his  office.  The  woodside  cottage 
was  merely  a  lodging  maintained — at  no  great  cost,  to 
be  sure — as  an  evidence  of  prosperity  and  respectability. 
It  would  hardly  do  for  one  to  whom  the  local  newspaper 
had  pointed  with  pride  as  "the  foremost  jurist  of  his 
time"  to  be  "homeless,"  albeit  he  may  sometimes  have 
suspected  that  the  words  "home"  and  "house"  were 
not  strictly  synonymous.  Indeed,  his  consciousness  of 
the  disparity  and  his  will  to  harmonize  it  were  matters 
of  logical  inference,  for  it  was  generally  reported  that 
soon  after  the  cottage  was  built  its  owner  had  made  a 
futile  venture  in  the  direction  of  marriage — had,  in 
truth,  gone  so  far  as  to  be  rejected  by  the  beautiful  but 
eccentric  daughter  of  Old  Man  Marlowe,  the  recluse. 
This  was  publicly  believed  because  he  had  told  it  him- 
self and  she  had  riot — a  reversal  of  the  usual  order  of 
things  which  could  hardly  fail  to  carry  conviction. 

Brading 's  bedroom  was  at  the  rear  of  the  house,  with 


THE  EYES  OF  THE  PANTHER   107 

a  single  window  facing  the  forest.  One  night  he  was 
awakened  by  a  noise  at  that  window — he  could  hardly 
have  said  what  it  was  like.  With  a  little  thrill  of  the 
nerves  he  sat  up  in  bed  and  laid  hold  of  the  revolver 
which,  with  a  forethought  most  commendable  in  one 
addicted  to  the  habit  of  sleeping  on  the  ground  floor 
with  an  open  window,  he  had  put  under  his  pillow. 
The  room  was  in  absolute  darkness,  but  being  unterrified 
he  knew  where  to  direct  his  eyes,  and  there  he  held 
them,  awaiting  in  silence  what  further  might  occur. 
He  could  now  dimly  discern  the  aperture — a  square  of 
lighter  black.  Presently  there  appeared  at  its  lower 
edge  two  gleaming  eyes  that  burned  with  a  malignant 
luster  inexpressibly  terrible!  Brading's  heart  gave  a 
great  jump,  then  seemed  to  stand  still.  A  chill  passed 
along  his  spine  and  through  his  hair;  he  felt  the  blood 
forsake  his  cheeks.  He  could  not  have  cried  out — not 
to  save  his  life;  but  being  a  man  of  courage  he  would 
not,  to  save  his  life,  have  done  so  if  he  had  been  able. 
Some  trepidation  his  coward  body  might  feel,  but  his 
spirit  was  of  sterner  stuff.  Slowly  the  shining  eyes  rose 
with  a  steady  motion  that  seemed  an  approach,  and 
slowly  rose  Brading's  right  hand,  holding  the  pistol.  He 
fired! 

Blinded  by  the  flash  and  stunned  by  the  report,  Brad- 
ing  nevertheless  heard,  or  fancied  that  he  heard,  the 
wild  high  scream  of  the  panther,  so  human  in  sound, 
so  devilish  in  suggestion.  Leaping  from  the  bed  he 
hastily  clothed  himself  and  pistol  in  hand,  sprang  from 
the  door,  meeting  two  or  three  men  who  came  running 
up  from  the  road.  A  brief  explanation  was  followed  by 
a  cautious  search  of  the  house.  The  grass  was  wet  with 


108      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

dew;  beneath  the  window  it  had  been  trodden  and 
partly  leveled  for  a  wide  space,  from  which  a  devious 
trail,  visible  in  the  light  of  a  lantern,  led  away  into  the 
bushes.  One  of  the  men  stumbled  and  fell  upon  his 
hands,  which  as  he  rose  and  rubbed  them  together  were 
slippery.  On  examination  they  were  seen  to  be  red 
with  blood. 

An  encounter,  unarmed,  with  a  wounded  panther 
was  not  agreeable  to  their  taste ;  all  but  Brading  turned 
back.  He,  with  lantern  and  pistol,  pushed  courageously 
forward  into  the  wood.  Passing  through  a  difficult  un- 
dergrowth he  came  into  a  small  opening,  and  there  his 
courage  had  its  reward,  for  there  he  found  the  body  of 
his  victim.  But  it  was  no  panther.  What  it  was  is 
told,  even  to  this  day,  upon  a  weather-worn  headstone 
in  the  village  chur"hy<ird,  and  for  many  years  was  at- 
tested daily  at  the  graveside  by  the  bent  figure  and 
sorrow-seamed  face  of  Old  Man  Marlowe,  to  whose  soul, 
and  to  the  soul  of  his  strange,  unhappy  child,  peace — 
peace  and  reparation. 


i 


PHOTOGRAPHING  INVISIBLE  BEINGS 

BY  WM.   T.  STEAD 

"  Millions  of  Spiritual  creatures  walk  the  earth 
Unseen,  both  when  we  wake  and  when  we  sleep." 

— MILTON 


IT  was  during  the  South  African  War  that  my  father 
obtained  one  of  his  best  authenticated  spirit  photo- 
graphs, so  I  think  that  it  is  well  to  give  here  his 
own  account  of  his  experiments  in  that  direction.  He 
writes : 

"While  recording  the  results  at  which  I  have  ar- 
rived, I  wish*  to  repudiate  any  desire  to  dogmatize  as  to 
their  significance  or  their  origin.  I  merely  record  the 
facts,  and  although  I  may  indicate  conclusions  and  in- 
ferences which  I  have  drawn  from  them,  I  attach  no  im- 
portance to  anything  but  the  facts  themselves. 

"There  is  living  in  London  at  the  present  moment  an 
old  man  of  seventy-one  years  of  age,  a  man  of  no  educa- 
tion; he  can  write,  but  he  cannot  spell,  and  he  has  for 
many  years  earned  his  living  as  a  photographer.  He 
was  always  in  a  small  way  of  business,  a  quiet,  inoffen- 
sive man  who  brought  up  his  family  respectably,  and 
lived  in  peace  with  his  neighbors,  attracting  no  par- 
ticular remark  .  .  . 

"When  he  started  in  business  as  a  photographer  it 

109 


110      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

was  in  the  days  when  the  wet  process  was  almost  uni- 
versal, and  he  was  much  annoyed  by  finding  that  when 
he  exposed  plates  other  forms  than  that  of  the  sitter 
would  appear  in  the  background.  So  many  plates  were 
spoiled  by  these  unwelcome  intruders  that  his  partner 
became  very  angry,  and  insisted  that  the  plates  had  not 
been  washed  before  they  were  used.  He  protested  this 
was  not  so,  and  asked  his  partner  to  bring  a  packet  of 
completely  new  plates  with  which  he  would  take  a  photo- 
graph and  see  what  was  the  result.  His  partner  ac- 
cepted the  challenge,  and  produced  a  plate  which  had 
never  previously  been  used;  but  when  the  portrait  of 
the  next  sitter  was  taken,  there  appeared  a  shadow 
form  in  the  background.  Angry  and  frightened  at  this 
unwelcome  appearance  he  flung  the  plate  to  the  ground 
with  an  oath,  and  from  that  time  for  very  many  years 
he  was  never  again  troubled  by  an  occurrence  of  similar 
phenomena. 

"  About  ten  years  ago  he  became  interested  in  spirit- 
ualism, and  to  his  surprise,  and  also  to  his  regret,  the 
shadow  figures  began  to  re-appear  on  the  background 
of  the  photographs.  He  repeatedly  had  to  destroy  neg- 
atives and  ask  his  customer  to  give  him  another  sitting. 
It  did  his  business  harm,  and  in  order  to  avoid  this  an- 
noyance he  left  most  of  the  photographing  to  his  son. 

"I  happened  to  hear  of  these  curious  experiences  of 
his  and  sought  him  out.  I  found  him  very  reluctant  to 
speak  about  the  matter.  He  said  frankly  he  did  not 
know  how  the  figures  came ;  it  had  been  a  great  annoy- 
ance to  him,  and  it  gave  his  shop  a  bad  name.  He  did 
not  wish  anything  to  be  said  about  the  matter.  In  def- 
erence, however,  to  repeated  pressing  on  my  part,  he 


PHOTOGRAPHING  INVISIBLE  BEINGS  111 

consented  to  make  experiments  with  me,  and  I  had  at 
various  times  a  considerable  number  of  sittings. 

"At  first  I  brought  my  own  plates  (half  plate  size). 
He  allowed  me  to  place  them  in  his  slide  in  the  dark 
room,  to  put  them  in  the  camera,  which  I  was  allowed 
to  turn  inside-out,  and  after  they  were  exposed  I  was 
permitted  to  go  into  the  dark  room  and  develop  them  in 
his  presence.  Under  these  conditions  I  repeatedly  ob- 
tained pictures  of  persons  who  were  certainly  not  visi- 
ble to  me  in  the  studio.  I  was  allowed  to  do  almost  any- 
thing that  I  pleased,  to  alter  the  background,  to  change 
the  position  of  the  camera,  to  sit  at  any  angle  that  I 
chose — in  short  to  act  as  if  the  studio  and  all  belonging 
to  it  was  my  own.  And  I  repeatedly  obtained  what  the 
old  photographer  called  ' shadow  pictures,'  but  none  of 
them  bore  any  resemblance  to  any  person  whom  I  had 
known. 

"In  all  these  earlier  experiments  the  photographer, 
whom  I  will  call  Mr.  B — ,  made  no  charge,  and  the 
only  request  that  he  made  was  that  I  should  not  pub- 
lish his  name,  or  do  anything  to  let  his  neighbors  know 
of  the  curious  shadow  pictures  which  were  obtainable 
in  his  studio. 

"After  a  time  I  was  so  thoroughly  satisfied  that  the 
shadow  photographs,  or  spirit  forms,  were  not  pro- 
duced by  any  fraud  on  the  part  of  the  photographer, 
that  I  did  not  trouble  to  bring  my  own  marked  plates — 
I  allowed  him  to  use  his  own,  and  to  do  all  the  work  of 
loading  the  slide  and  of  developing  the  plate  without 
my  assistance  or  supervision.  What  I  wanted  was  to 
see  whether  it  would  be  possible  for  me  to  obtain  a 
photograph  of  any  person  known  to  me  in  life  who  has 


112      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

passed  over  to  the  other  side.  The  production  of  one 
such  picture,  if  the  person  was  unknown  to  the  photog- 
rapher, and  he  had  no  means  of  obtaining  the  photo- 
graph of  the  original  while  on  earth,  seemed  to  me  so 
much  better  a  test  of  the  genuineness  of  the  phenomena 
than  could  be  secured  by  any  amount  of  personal  super- 
vision of  the  process  of  photography,  that  I  left  him  to 
operate  without  interference.  The  results  he  obtained 
when  left  to  himself  were  precisely  the  same  as  those 
when  the  slides  passed  only  through  my  own  hands. 
But,  although  I  obtained  a  great  variety  of  portraits 
of  unknown  persons,  I  got  none  whom  I  could  recognize. 

"In  a  conversation  with  Mr.  B —  as  to  how  these 
shadow  pictures,  as  he  called  them,  came  on  the  plate, 
I  found  him  almost  as  much  at  sea  as  myself.  He  said 
that  he  did  not  know  how  they  came,  but  that  he  had 
noticed  that  they  came  more  frequently  and  with  greater 
distinctness  at  some  times  than  at  others.  He  could 
never  say  beforehand  whether  they  would  come  or  not. 
He  frequently  informed  me  when  my  sitting  began  that 
he  could  guarantee  nothing.  And  often  the  set  of  plates 
would  bear  no  trace  of  any  portrait  save  mine. 

"He  was  very  reluctant  to  continue  the  experiments, 
and  used  to  complain  that  after  exposing  four  plates 
with  a  view  to  obtaining  such  pictures  he  felt  quite 
exhausted.  And  sometimes  he  complained  that  his  'in- 
nards seemed  to  be  turned  upside-down/  to  use  his  own 
phrase.  I  usually  sat  with  him  between  two  and  three 
in  the  afternoon,  and  on  the  days  which  I  came  he  al- 
ways abstained  from  the  usual  glass  of  beer  which  he 
took  with  his  mid-day  meal.  If  I  came  unexpectedly, 
and  he  had  had  a  single  glass  of  beer,  which  formed 


PHOTOGRAPHING  INVISIBLE  BEINGS  113 

his  usual  beverage,  he  would  always  assure  me  that  I 
need  not  expect  any  good  results.  I,  however,  never 
found  any  particular  difference  in  the  results. 

"We  often  discussed  the  matter  together.  And  he 
was  evidently  working  out  a  theory  of  his  own,  as  any 
one  might  under  such  circumstances.  He  knew  that 
when  he  was  excited  or  irritated  he  got  bad  results. 
Hence  he  often  used  to  keep  a  music-box  going,  for  the 
music,  in  his  opinion,  tended  to  set  up  good  and  tranquil 
conditions.  He  said  he  thought  something  must  come 
out  of  him — what,  he  did  not  know,  but  something  was 
taken  out  of  him,  and  with  this  something  he  thought 
the  entities,  whoever  they  were,  built  themselves  up  and 
acquired  sufficient  substance  to  reflect  the  rays  of  light 
so  as  to  impress  the  sensitive  plate  in  his  camera.  He 
also  thought  that  his  old  camera  had  become  what  he 
called  magnetized,  and  although  it  was  an  old-fashioned 
piece  of  furniture,  which  I  not  only  examined  myself, 
but  have  had  examined  by  expert  photographers,  noth- 
ing could  be  discovered  within  or  without  it  which  would 
account  for  the  results  obtained.  He  also  was  of  the 
opinion  that  even  although  he  did  not  touch  the  photo- 
graphic plate,  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  touch  or  to 
hold  his  hand  over  the  photographic  slide,  and  also  to 
hold  his  hand  over  the  plate  when  it  was  in  the  develop- 
ing bath.  His  theory  was  that  in  some  way  or  other 
this  process  magnetized  the  plate  and  brought  out  a 
shadow  portrait. 

"One  peculiarity  of  almost  all  the  shadow  pictures 
obtained  in  all  these  series  of  experiments  is  that  they 
have  around  them  the  same  kind  of  white  drapery  which 
is  so  familiar  to  those  who  have  taken  part  in  a  material- 


114      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

izing  seance.  Sometimes  this  drapery  is  more  volu- 
minous than  at  others;  often,  when  the  conditions  are 
good,  the  form  which  at  first  appears  with  its  head 
encompassed  with  drapery  will  appear  on  the  second 
plate  without  any  drapery.  On  asking  Mr.  B —  what 
explanation  he  could  give  for  this,  he  said  he  did  not 
know,  but  he  believed  that  the  bodily  appearance  as- 
sumed by  the  spirit  was  very  sensitive  and  needed  to  be 
shielded  from  currents,  which  might  harm  it.  But  when 
harmony  prevailed  they  could  venture  to  remove  the 
drapery,  and  be  photographed  without  it.  Whatever 
may  be  the  value  of  Mr.  B — 's  theory,  there  is  little 
doubt  that  something  is  given  off  from  his  body  which 
can  be  photographed.  The  white  mist  that  appears  to 
emanate  from  him  forms  into  cloudy  folds  out  of  which 
there  protrudes  a  more  or  less  clearly  defined  face  with 
human  features.  Sometimes  this  white  and  mi^ty  cloud 
obscures  the  sitter,  at  other  times  it  seems  to  be  con- 
densed as  if  it  were  in  the  process  of  being  worked  up 
into  a  definite  form  for  the  completion  of  which  either 
time  or  some  other  conditions  were  lacking.  It  was 
also  noticeable  that  the  entity — whoever  it  may  be — 
which  builds  up  the  form,  who  is  giving  off  sufficient 
solidity  to  impress  its  image  upon  the  plate  in  the  cam- 
era, having  once  created  a  form,  will  use  it  repeatedly 
without  any  change  of  position  or  expression.  This  will 
no  doubt  seem  a  great  stumbling-block  to  many.  But 
the  fact  is  as  I  have  stated  it,  and  our  first  business  is  to 
ascertain  facts,  whether  they  tell  for  or  against  any  par- 
ticular hypothesis.  It  may  be  that  the  disembodied 
spirit,  in  order  to  establish  its  identity,  constructs,  out 
of  the  'aura'  given  off  by  the  photographer  or  other 


PHOTOGEAPHING  INVISIBLE  BEINGS  115 

medium,  a  mask  or  cast  bearing  the  unmistakable  re- 
semblance to  the  body  which  it  wore  in  its  sojourn  on 
earth.  Having  once  built  it  up  for  use  in  the  studio,  it 
may  be  easier  to  employ  the  same  cast  again  and  again 
instead  of  building  up  a  new  one  at  each  fresh  sitting. 
Upon  this  point,  however,  I  shall  have  something  to  say 
further  on. 

' '  I  was  very  much  interested  in  the  results  I  obtained, 
although  as  none  of  the  photographs  were  identified  I 
did  not  deem  the  experiment  completely  successful.  I 
was  very  anxious  to  induce  Mr.  B —  to  devote  some 
months  to  an  uninterrupted  series  of  experiments,  and 
asked  him  on  what  terms  I  could  secure  his  services.  But 
he  absolutely  refused ;  he  said  he  did  not  like  it,  it  made 
him  unwell,  made  people  speak  ill  of  him,  and  it  did  not 
matter  what  terms  were  offered,  he  would  not  consent. 
He  was  an  old  man,  he  said,  and  he  could  not  find  out 
how  these  things  came;  and,  in  short,  neither  scientific 
curiosity  nor  financial  consideration  would  induce  him  to 
consent  to  more  than  an  occasional  sitting.  I  therefore 
dropped  the  matter,  and  for  some  years  I  discontinued 
my  experiments. 

"I  had  a  friend  who  often  accompanied  me  to  Mr. 
B — 7s  studio,  where  she  had  been  photographed  both 
with  and  without  shadow  pictures  appearing  on  the 
background.  We  often  promised  each  other  that  if  either 
of  us  passed  over  we  would  come  back  and  be  photo- 
graphed by  Mr.  B —  if  possible,  in  order  to  prove  the 
reality  of  spirit  return.  Shortly  after  this  my  friend 
died.  But  it  was  not  until  nearly  four  years  after  her 
death,  at  the  request  of  a  friend  who  was  very  anxious 
to  know  whether  she  could  communicate  with  those  on 


116      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

the  other  side,  that  I  went  back  to  Mr.  B — 's  studio. 
'  *  He  had  always  been  slightly  clairvoyant  and  clairau- 
dient.  He  told  me  that  a  few  days  before  I  had  written 
asking  for  the  appointment,  my  deceased  friend  had  ap- 
peared in  the  studio  and  told  him  that  I  was  coming. 
This  reminded  me  of  her  promise,  and  I  said  at  once 
that  I  hoped  he  would  be  able  to  photograph  her.  He 
said  he  didn't  know;  he  was  rather  frightened  of  her, 
for  reasons  into  which  I  need  not  enter,  but  if  she  came 
he  would  see  what  he  could  do.  My  friend  and  I  sat 
together.  The  first  plate  was  exposed,  nothing  appeared 
in  the  background.  When  the  second  plate  was  placed 
in  the  camera  Mr.  B —  nodded  with  a  quick  look  of 
recognition.  We  saw  nothing.  After  he  had  exposed 
the  second  plate  and  before  he  developed  it  he  asked  us 
to  change  seats.  We  did  this,  and  as  he  was  exposing 
the  third  plate  he  said,  '  I  am  told  to  ask  you  to  do  this, ' 
and  then  when  he  closed  the  shutter  he  said,  'it  is  Mrs. 
M — .'  On  the  fourth  plate  there  appeared  a  picture 
of  a  woman  whom  I  had  never  seen  before,  and  whom 
my  friend  had  never  seen,  neither  had  Mr.  B — .  When 
the  plates  came  to  be  developed  I  found  the  second  and 
third  plates  contained  unmistakable  likenesses  of  my 
friend  Mrs.  M — .  These  portraits  were  immediately 
recognized  by  my  friend  as  unmistakable  likenesses  of 
the  deceased  Mrs.  M — .  It  will  be  objected  that  she 
had  frequently  been  photographed  by  the  same  photog- 
rapher, and  that  he  had  simply  faked  a  photograph 
from  one  of  his  old  negatives.  I  don 't  believe  that  this 
is  possible,  for  these  portraits,  although  recognized  imme- 
diately by  every  one  who  knew  her,  including  her  near- 
est relative,  are  quite  different  from  any  photograph  she 


PHOTOGRAPHING  INVISIBLE  BEINGS  117 

ever  had  taken  in  life.  She  certainly  never  was  photo- 
graphed enveloped  in  white  drapery,  nor  do  I  believe 
that  Mr.  B —  had  any  negative  of  any  of  her  portraits 
in  his  possession.  But  I  fully  admit  that  from  the  point 
of  view  of  one  who  wishes  to  exclude  every  possibility  of 
error,  the  fact  that  Mrs.  M —  had  been  frequently 
photographed  in  her  life-time  by  the  same  photographer 
renders  it  impossible  to  regard  these  photographs  as  con- 
clusive testimony  as  to  their  authenticity  as  a  photo- 
graph of  a  form  assumed  by  a  disembodied  spirit.  I 
have  mentioned  that  on  the  fourth  plate  there  appeared 
a  portrait  of  an  unknown  female.  On  my  return  I  was 
showing  the  print  of  this  shadow  picture  to  a  friend 
when  she  startled  me  by  declaring  that  the  shrouded 
form  which  appeared  behind  me  in  the  photograph  was 
a  portrait  of  her  mother  who  had  died  some  months  be- 
fore in  Dublin.  I  had  never  seen  her  mother,  my  friend 
did  not  know  of  her  existence,  neither  did  the  photog- 
rapher, nor  does  he  to  this  day.  It  was  only  many 
months  afterwards  that  I  was  able  to  obtain  a  photo- 
graph of  my  friend's  mother,  but  it  was  taken  when 
she  was  a  comparatively  young  woman  and  bore  no 
manner  of  resemblance  to  the  portrait  of  the  lady  who 
appeared  behind  me.  Her  daughter,  however,  had  not 
the  slightest  hesitation  in  asserting  that  it  was  her 
mother,  that  she  had  recognized  her  instantly,  and  that 
it  was  a  very  good  portrait  of  her  as  she  appeared  in 
the  later  years  of  her  life.  This  startled  me  not  a  little, 
and  convinced  me  that  I  had  a  good  prospect  of  attain- 
ing some  definite  results  as  an  outcome  of  my  experi- 
ments. 

"Mr.  B — ,  encouraged  by  this  success,  was  willing 


118      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

to  continue  his  experiments,  and  this  time  I  insisted 
upon  paying  him  for  his  work. 

"From  this  time  onward  the  occurrence  of  photo- 
graphs that  were  recognizable  on  the  background  of 
the  photographs  taken  by  Mr.  B —  became  frequent. 
Sometimes  the  plates  were  marked;  but  not  invariably. 
For  my  part  I  attach  comparatively  no  importance  to 
the  marking  of  plates  and  the  close  supervision  of  the 
operator.  The  test  of  the  genuineness  of  a  photograph 
that  is  obtained  when  the  unknown  relative  of  an  un- 
known sitte'r  appears  in  the  background  of  the  photo- 
graph, is  immeasurably  superior  to  precautions  any  ex- 
pert conjurer  or  trick  photographer  might  evade.  Again 
and  again  I  sent  friends  to  Mr.  B — ,  giving  him  no  in- 
formation as  to  who  they  were,  nor  telling  him  anything 
as  to  the  identity  of  the  persons'  deceased  friend  or 
relative  whose  portrait  they  wished  to  secure;  and  time 
and  again  when  the  negative  was  developed  the  portrait 
would  appear  in  the  background,  or  sometimes  in  front 
of  the  sitter.  This  occurred  so  frequently  that  I  am 
quite  convinced  of  the  impossibility  of  any  fraud.  One 
time  it  was  a  French  editor,  who  finding  the  portrait 
of  his  deceased  wife  appear  on  the  negative  when  de- 
veloped, was  so  transported  with  delight  that  he  insisted 
on  kissing  the  photographer,  Mr.  B — ,  much  to  the  old 
man's  embarrassment.  On  another  occasion  it  was  a 
Lancashire  engineer,  himself  a  photographer,  who  took 
marked  plates  and  all  possible  precautions.  He  obtained 
portraits  of  two  of  his  relatives  and  another  of  an  emi- 
nent personage  with  whom  he  had  been  in  close  relations. 
Or  again,  it  was  a  near  neighbor,  who,  going  as  a  total 


PHOTOGRAPHING  INVISIBLE  BEINGS  119 

stranger  to  the  studio,  obtained  the  portrait  of  her  de- 
ceased daughter. 

"I  attach  no  importance  whatever  to  the  appearance 
of  portraits  of  well-known  personages,  which  might 
easily  be  copied  from  existing  pictures,  but  I  attach  im- 
mense importance  to  the  production  of  the  spirit  photo- 
graphs of  unknown  relatives  of  sitters  who  are  unknown 
to  the  photographer,  who  receives  them  solely  as  a  lady 
or  gentleman  who  is  one  of  my  friends. 

"Although,  as  I  have  said,  I  do  not  attach  much  im- 
portance to  photograph's  appearing  of  well-known  men, 
I  confess  that  I  was  rather  impressed  by  one  of  my  most 
recent  experiments.  I  received  a  message  from  a  me- 
dium in  Sheffield,  who  is  unknown  to  me,  saying  that 
Cecil  Rhodes,  who  had  then  been  dead  about  nine 
months,  had  spoken  to  her  clairaudiently,  and  had  told 
her  to  ask  me  to  go  to  the  photographer's,  and  that  he 
would  come  and  be  photographed.  The  medium  was  a 
stranger  to  me,  and  I  confess  that  I  received  the  mes- 
sage with  considerable  skepticism.  However,  when  she 
came  up  to  town  I  accompanied  her  to  the  studio.  She 
declared  that  she  saw  Cecil  Rhodes,  and  that  he  spoke 
to  her,  and  that  he  was  standing  behind  me  when  the 
plate  was  exposed.  When  the  plate  came  to  be  devel- 
oped, although  there  was  one  well-defined  figure  stand- 
ing behind  me  and  several  other  faces  half  visible  in  the 
background,  there  was  no  portrait  of  Cecil  Rhodes.  I 
was  not  surprised,  and  went  away.  A  month  afterwards 
I  went  to  have  another  sitting  with  the  photographer. 
I  chatted  with  him  for  a  short  time,  and  then  he  left 
the  room  for  a  moment.  When  he  came  back  he  said 
to  me:  ' There  is  a  round-faced  well  set-up  man  here 


120       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

with  a  short  moustache  and  a  dimple  in  his  chin.  Do 
you  know  him?'  'No,'  I  said,  'I  don't  know  any  such 
man.'  'Well,  he  seems  to  be  very  busy  about  you.' 
'Well,'  I  said,  'if  he  comes  upstairs,  we  shall  see  what 
we  can  get.'  'I  don't  know,'  said  he.  When  I  was  sit- 
ting, he  said,  'There  he  is,  and  I  see  the  letter  R.  Is  it 
Robert  or  Richard,  do  you  think?'  'I  don't  know  any 
Robert  or  Richard,'  I  said.  He  took  the  picture.  He 
then  proceeded  with  the  second  plate,  and  said,  'That 
man  is  still  here,  and  I  see  behind  him  a  country  road. 
I  wonder  what  that  means.'  He  went  into  the  dark 
room,  and  presently  came  out  and  said,  'I  see  "road  or 
roads."  Do  you  know  any  one  of  that  name?'  'Of 
course,'  I  said,  'Cecil  Rhodes.'  'Do  you  mean  him  as 
died  in  the  Transvaal  lately?'  said  he.  I  said  'Yes.' 
'  Well, '  he  said, '  was  he  a  man  like  that  ? '  '  Well,  he  had 
a  moustache,'  I  said.  And  sure  enough,  when  the  plate 
was  developed,  there  was  Cecil  Rhodes  looking  fifteen 
years  younger  than  when  he  died. 

"Some  other  plates  were  exposed.  One  was  entirely 
blank,  on  two  others  the  mist  was  formed  into  a  kind  of 
clot  of  light,  but  no  figure  was  visible,  the  fifth  had  a 
portrait  of  an  unknown  man,  and  on  the  sixth,  when  it 
came  to  be  developed,  there  was  the  same  portrait  of 
Cecil  Rhodes  that  had  appeared  on  the  first,  but  without 
the  white  drapery  round  the  head. 

' '  Of  course  it  may  be  said  that  it  was  well  known  that 
I  was  connected  with  Cecil  Rhodes  and  that  the  photog- 
rapher therefore  would  have  no  difficulty  in  faking  a 
portrait.  I  admit  all  that,  and  therefore  I  would  not 
have  introduced  this  if  it  had  stood  alone,  as  any  evi- 
dence showing  that  it  was  a  bona  fide  photograph  of  an 


PHOTOGEAPHING  INVISIBLE  BEINGS  121 

invisible  being.  But  it  does  not  stand  alone,  and  I  have 
almost  every  reason  to  believe  in  the  almost  stupid  hon- 
esty, if  I  may  use  such  a  phrase,  of  the  photographer. 
I  am  naturally  much  interested  in  these  latest  portraits 
of  the  African  Colossus.  They  are,  at  any  rate,  en- 
tirely new,  no  such  portraits,  to  the  best  of  my  knowl- 
edge— and  I  have  made  a  collection  of  all  I  can  lay 
my  hands  on — exactly  resembling  those  portraits  which 
I  obtained  at  Mr.  B — 's  studio. 

"I  will  conclude  the  account  of  my  experiments  by 
telling  how  I  secured  a  portrait  under  circumstances 
which  preclude  any  possibility  of  fake  or  fraud.  One 
day  when  I  entered  the  studio,  Mr.  B —  said  to  me, 
*  There  is  a  man  come  with  you  who  has  been  here  be- 
fore ;  he  came  here  some  days  ago  when  I  was  by  myself ; 
he  looked  very  wild,  and  he  had  a  gun  in  his  hand,  and 
I  did  not  like  the  look  of  him.  I  don't  like  guns,  so  I 
asked  him  to  go  away,  for  I  was  frightened  of  the  gun, 
and  he  went.  But  now  he  has  come  with  you,  and  he 
has  not  got  his  gun  any  more,  so  we  will  let  him  stop/ 
I  was  rather  amused  at  the  old  man's  story  and  said, 
'Well,  see  if  you  can  photograph  him.'  'I  don't  know 
as  I  can, '  he  said,  '  I  never  know  what  I  can  get, ' — which 
is  quite  true,  for  often  the  photographs  which  he  says 
he  sees  clairvoyantly  do  not  come  out  en  the  plate. 
While  he  was  photographing  me,  I  said  to  him,  'If  you 
can  tell  this  man  to  go  away,  you  can  ask  him  his  name. ' 
1  Yes, '  said  he.  '  Will  you  do  so  T  I  said.  '  Yes, '  he  said. 
After  seeming  to  ask  the  question  mentally,  he  said,  '  He 
says  his  name  is  Piet  Botha.'  'Piet  Botha,'  I  said,  'I 
know  no  such  name.  There  are  Louis  and  Philip,  and 
Chris  Botha.  I  have  never  heard  of  Piet ;  still  they  are 


122       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

a  numerous  family  and  there  are  plenty  of  Bothas  in 
South  Africa,  and  it  will  be  interesting  to  ask  General 
Botha,  when  he  arrives,  whether  he  knows  of  any  Piet 
Botha. '  When  the  negative  was  developed,  sure  enough 
there  appeared  behind  me  a  photograph  of  a  stalwart 
bearded  person,  who  might  have  been  a  Boer  or  a  Rus- 
sian moujik,  but  who  was  certainly  unknown  to  me.  I 
had  never  seen  a  portrait  of  any  one  which  bore  any 
resemblance  to  the  photograph. 

1 '  When  General  Botha  arrived  I  did  not  get  an  oppor- 
tunity of  asking  him  about  the  photograph,  but  some 
time  afterwards  I  asked  Mr.  Fischer,  one  of  the  delega- 
tion from  the  South  African  Republics,  to  look  at  the 
photograph,  and  if  he  got  an  opportunity  to  ask  General 
Botha  if  he  knew  of  such  a  man  as  Piet  Botha.  Mr. 
Fischer  said  he  thought  he  had  seen  the  face  before,  but 
he  could  not  be  certain.  He  departed  with  +he  photo- 
graph. Some  days  afterwards  Mr.  Wessels,  a  member 
of  the  delegation  with  Mr.  Fischer,  came  down  to  my 
office.  He  said,  'I  want  to  know  about  that  photograph 
that  you  gave  Mr.  Fischer/  'Yes/  I  said,  'what  about 
it?'  'I  want  to  know  where  you  got  it.'  I  told  him. 
He  replied  disdainfully,  '  I  don 't  believe  in  such  things ; 
it  is  superstition;  besides,  that  man  didn't  know  Mr. 
B — ;  he  has  never  been  in  London ;  how  could  he  come 
there?'  'What,'  I  said,  'do  you  know  him?'  'Know 
him!'  said  Mr.  Wessels.  'He  is  my  brother-in-law.' 
'Really!'  I  said.  'What  did  they  call  him?'  'Pietrus 
Johannes  Botha,  but  we  always  called  him  Piet  for 
short.'  'Is  he  dead,  then?'  I  said.  'Yes,'  said  Mr. 
Wessels,  'he  was  the  first  Boer  officer  who  was  killed  in 
the  siege  of  Kimberley;  but  there  is  a  mystery  about 


PHOTOGRAPHING  INVISIBLE  BEINGS  123 

this ;  you  didn  't  know  him  f '  '  No, '  I  said.  '  And  never 
heard  of  him?'  'No,'  I  said.  'But,'  he  said,  'I  have 
the  man 's  portrait  in  my  house  in  South  Africa,  how 
could  you  get  it?'  'But/  I  said,  'I  never  have  had  it.' 
'I  don't  understand/  he  said,  moodily,  and  so  departed. 
I  afterwards  showed  the  photograph  to  another  Free- 
State  Boer  who  knew  Piet  Botha  very  well,  and  he  had 
not  the  slightest  hesitation  in  declaring  that  it  was  an 
unmistakable  likeness  of  his  dead  friend.* 

"This  is  a  plain,  straightforward  narrative  of  my  ex- 
periences; they  are  still  going  on.  But  if  I  continue 
them  forever  I  don 't  see  how  I  am  going  to  obtain  better 
results  than  those  which  I  have  already  secured.  At  the 
same  time  I  must  admit  that  when  I  have  taken  my  own 
kodak  to  the  studio  and  taken  a  photograph  immediately 
before  Mr.  B —  had  exposed  his  plate,  I  got  no  results. 
The  same  failure  occurred  with  another  photographer 
whom  I  took,  who  took  his  own  camera  and  his  own 
plates,  and  took  a  photograph  immediately  before  and 
immediately  after  Mr.  B —  had  exposed  his  plate,  and 
secured  no  result.  Mr.  B — 's  explanation  of  this  is 
that  he  thinks  he  does  in  some  way  or  other  magnetize, 

*Kef  erring  to  this  photo  elsewhere,  he  wrote: — 
"This  at  least  is  not  a  case  which  telepathy  can  explain.  Nor 
can  the  hypothesis  of  fraud  hold  water.  It  was  by  the  merest 
accident  that  I  asked  the  photographer  to  see  if  the  spirit  would 
give  his  name.  No  one  in  England,  so  far  as  I  have  been  able 
to  ascertain,  knew  that  any  Piet  Botha  ever  existed. 

"As  if  to  render  all  explanation  of  fraud  or  contrivance  still 
more  incredible,  it  may  be  mentioned  that  the  Daily  Graphic  of 
October,  1889,  which  announced  that  a  Commandant  Botha  had 
been  killed  in  the  siege  of  Kimberley,  published  a  portrait  alleged 
to  be  that  of  the  dead  commandant,  which  not  only  does  not  bear 
the  remotest  resemblance  to  the  Piet  Botha  of  my  photograph, 
but  which  was  described  as  Commandant  Hans  Botha ! ' y 


124       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

as  he  terms  it,  the  plate,  and  that  there  is  some  effluence 
from  his  hand  which  is  as  necessary  for  the  development 
of  the  psychic  figure  as  the  developing  liquid  is  for  the 
development  of  an  ordinary  photograph.  This  explana- 
tion would  no  doubt  be  derided  as,  I  presume,  wiseacres 
would  have  derided  the  first  photographers  when  they 
insisted  upon  the  necessity  of  darkness  whilst  developing 
their  plates.  What  I  hold  to  be  established  is  that  in  the 
presence  of  this  particular  individual,  Mr.  B — ,  who 
at  present  is  the  only  person  known  to  me  who  is  able 
to  produce  these  photographs,  it  is  possible  to  obtain  un- 
der test  conditions  photographs  that  are  unmistakably 
portraits  of  deceased  persons;  the  said  deceased  persons 
being  entirely  unknown  to  him,  and  in  some  cases 
equally  unknown  to  the  sitter.  Neither  was  any  por- 
trait of  such  person  accessible  either  to  the  sitter  or  the 
photographer;  neither  was  either  the  sitter  or  the  pho- 
tographer conscious  of  the  very  existence  of  these  per- 
sons, whose  identity  was  subsequently  recognized  by 
their  friends.* 

1 '  I  am  willing  to  admit  that  no  conceivable  conditions 
in  the  way  of  marking  plates  and  supervising  the  ac- 
tions or  the  operations  of  the  photographer  are  of  the 
least  use,  in  so  much  as  an  expert  conjurer  can  easily 
^deceive  the  eye  of  the  unskilled  observer.  But  what  I 
do  maintain  is  that  it  is  impossible  for  the  cleverest  trick 
photographer  and  the  ablest  conjurer  in  the  world  to 
produce  a  photograph,  at  a  moment's  notice,  of  an  un- 
known relative  of  an  unknown  sitter,  this  portrait  to  be 

*Miss  Katharine  Bates  was  present  when  the  Piet  Botha 
photograph  was  taken  under  the  exact  conditions  specified  by  my 
father. 


PHOTOGRAPHING  INVISIBLE  BEINGS  125 

unmistakably  recognizable  by  all  survivors  who  knew  the 
original  in  life.  This  Mr.  B —  has  done  again  and 
again.  And  it  seems  to  me  that  a  great  step  has  been 
made  towards  establishing  the  possibility  of  verifying 
by  photography  the  reality  of  the  existence  of  other  in- 
telligences than  our  own." 

The  photographer  alluded  to  in  this  article  is  Mr. 
Boursnell.  He  died  shortly  after  it  was  written,  and 
although  father  experimented  with  others,  he  never  ob- 
tained such  convincing  and  satisfactory  results. 


THE  SIN-EATER 

BY  FIONA  MACLEOD 

SIN. 

Taste   this   bread,   this   substance:   tell  me 
Is  it  bread  or  flesh? 

[The  Senses  approach.] 
THE  SMELL. 
Its  smell 

Is  the  smell  of  bread. 
SIN. 

Touch,   come.     Why   tremble? 
Say  what's  this  thou  touchest? 

THE  TOUCH. 
Bread. 

SIN. 

Sight,  declare  what  thou  discernest 
In  this  object. 

THE  SIGHT. 
Bread  alone. 

CALDEBON, 
Los  Encantos  de  la  Culpa 

A  WET  wind  out  of  the  south  mazed  and  mooned 
through  the  sea-mist  that  hung  over  the  Ross. 
In  all  the  bays  and  creeks  was  a  continuous  weary 
lapping  of  water.     There  was  no  other  sound  anywhere. 
Thus  was  it  at  daybreak;  it  was  thus  at  noon;  thus 
was  it  now  in  the  darkening  of  the  day.     A  confused 
thrusting  and  falling  of  sounds  through  the  silence  be- 
tokened the  hour  of  the  setting.     Curlews  wailed  in  the 
mist ;  on  the  seething  limpet-covered  rocks  the  skuas  and 

126 


THE  SIN-EATEE  127 

terns  screamed,  or  uttered  hoarse,  rasping  cries.  Ever 
and  again  the  prolonged  note  of  the  oyster-catcher 
shrilled  against  the  air,  as  an  echo  flying  blindly  along  a 
blank  wall  of  cliff.  Out  of  weedy  places,  wherein  the 
tide  sobbed  with  long,  gurgling  moans,  came  at  intervals 
the  barking  of  a  seal. 

Inland,  by  the  hamlet  of  Contullich,  there  is  a  reedy 
tarn  called  the  Loch-a-chaoruinn.*  By  the  shores  of 
this  mournful  water  a  man  moved.  It  was  a  slow,  weary 
walk  that  of  the  man  Neil  Ross.  He  had  come  from 
Duninch,  thirty  miles  to  the  eastward,  and  had  not 
rested  foot,  nor  eaten,  nor  had  word  of  man  or  woman, 
since  his  going  west  an  hour  after  dawn. 

At  the  bend  of  the  loch  nearest  the  clachan  he  came 
upon  an  old  woman  carrying  peat.  To  his  reiterated 
question  as  to  where  he  was,  and  if  the  tarn  were  Feur- 
Lochan  above  Fionnaphort  that  is  on  the  strait  of  lona 
on  the  west  side  of  the  Ross  of  Mull,  she  did  not  at  first 
make  any  answer.  The  rain  trickled  down  her  withered 
brown  face,  over  which  the  thin  gray  locks  hung  limply. 
It  was  only  in  the  deep-set  eyes  that  the  flame  of  life 
still  glimmered,  though  that  dimly. 

The  man  had  used  the  English  when  first  he  spoke,  but 
as  though  mechanically.  Supposing  that  he  had  not 
been  understood,  he  repeated  his  question  in  the  Gaelic. 

After  a  minute's  silence  the  old  woman  answered  him 
in  the  native  tongue,  but  only  to  put  a  question  in  re- 
turn. 

"I  am  thinking  it  is  a  long  time  since  you  have  been 
in  lona?" 

*Contullich:  i.e.  Ceann-nan-tulaich,  "the  end  of  the  hillocks." 
Loch  a  chaoruinn  means  the  loch  of  the  rowan-trees. 


128      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

The  man  stirred  uneasily. 

' '  And  why  is  that,  mother  ? "  he  asked,  in  a  weak  voice 
hoarse  with  damp  and  fatigue;  "how  is  it  you  will  be 
knowing  that  I  have  been  in  lona  at  all?" 

"Because  I  knew  your  kith  and  kin  there,  Neil  Ross." 

"I  have  not  been  hearing  that  name,  mother,  for  many 
a  long  year.  And  as  for  the  old  face  o'  you,  it  is  un- 
beknown to  me." 

"I  was  at  the  naming  of  you,  for  all  that.  "Well  do 
I  remember  the  day  that  Silis  Macallum  gave  you  birth ; 
and  I  was  at  the  house  on  the  croft  of  Ballyrona  when 
Murtagh  Ross — that  was  your  father — laughed.  It  was 
an  ill  laughing  that." 

' '  I  am  knowing  it.     The  curse  of  God  on  him ! ' ' 
f     "  'Tis  not  the  first,  nor  the  last,  though  the  grass  is 
on  his  head  three  years  agone  now." 

"You  that  know  who  I  am  will  be  knowing  that  I  have 
no  kith  or  kin  now  on  lona  ? ' ' 

' '  Ay ;  they  are  all  under  gray  stone  or  running  wave. 
Donald  your  brother,  and  Murtagh  your  next  brother, 
and  little  Silis,  and  your  mother  Silis  herself,  and  your 
two  brothers  of  your  father,  Angus  and  Ian  Macallum, 
and  your  father  Murtagh  Ross,  and  his  lawful  childless 
wife,  Dionaid,  and  his  sister  Anna — one  and  all,  they  lie 
beneath  the  green  wave  or  in  the  brown  mould.  It  is 
said  there  is  a  curse  upon  all  who  live  at  Ballyrona. 
The  owl  builds  now  in  the  rafters,  and  it  is  the  big  sea-rat 
that  runs  across  the  fireless  hearth." 

"It  is  there  I  am  going." 

"The  foolishness  is  on  you,  Neil  Ross." 

"Now  it  is  that  I  am  knowing  who  you  are.  It  is 
old  Sheen  Macarthur  I  am  speaking  to." 


THE  SIN-EATER  129 

"Tha  mise  ...  it  is  I." 

"And  you  will  be  alone  now,  too,  I  am  thinking, 
Sheen?" 

' '  I  am  alone.  God  took  my  three  boys  at  the  one  fish- 
ing ten  years  ago;  and  before  there  was  moonrise  in 
the  blackness  of  my  heart  my  man  went.  It  was  after 
the  drowning  of  Anndra  that  my  croft  was  taken  from 
me.  Then  I  crossed  the  Sound,  and  shared  with  my 
widow  sister  Elsie  McVurie  till  she  went ;  and  then  the 
two  cows  had  to  go ;  and  I  had  no  rent,  and  was  old. ' 9 

In  the  silence  that  followed,  the  rain  dribbled  from 
the  sodden  bracken  and  dripping  loneroid.  Big  tears 
rolled  slowly  down  the  deep  lines  on  the  face  of  Sheen. 
Once  there  was  a  sob  in  her  throat,  but  she  put  her 
shaking  hand  to  it,  and  it  was  still. 

Neil  Ross  shifted  from  foot  to  foot.  The  ooze  in  that 
marshy  place  squelched  with  each  restless  movement  he 
made.  Beyond  them  a  plover  wheeled,  a  blurred  splatch 
in  the  mist,  crying  its  mournful  cry  over  and  over  and 
over. 

It  was  a  pitiful  thing  to  hear — ah,  bitter  loneliness, 
bitter  patience  of  poor  old  women.  That  he  knew  well. 
But  he  was  too  weary,  and  his  heart  was  nigh  full  of  its 
own  burthen.  The  words  could  not  come  to  his  lips. 
But  at  last  he  spoke. 

"Tha  mo  chridhe  goirt,"  he  said,  with  tears  in  his 
voice,  as  he  put  his  hand  on  her  bent  shoulder;  "my 
heart  is  sore." 

She  put  up  her  old  face  against  his. 

"  'S  tha  e  ruidhinn  mo  chridhe,"  she  whispered;  "it 
is  touching  my  heart  you  are." 


130       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

After  that  they  walked  on  slowly  through  the  drip- 
ping mist,  each  dumb  and  brooding  deep. 

" Where  will  you  be  staying  this  night?"  asked  Sheen 
suddenly,  when  they  had  traversed  a  wide  boggy  stretch 
of  land ;  adding,  as  by  an  afterthought — ' '  Ah,  it  is  ask- 
ing you  were  if  the  tarn  there  were  Feur-Lochan.  No ; 
it  is  Loch-a-chaoruinn,  and  the  clachan  that  is  near  is 
Contullich." 

" Which  way?" 

" Yonder,  to  the  right." 

"And  you  are  not  going  there?" 

"No.  I  am  going  to  the  steading  of  Andrew  Blair. 
Maybe  you  are  for  knowing  it?  It  is  called  the  Baile- 
na-Chlais-nambuidheag. '  '* 

"I  do  not  remember.  But  it  is  remembering  a  Blair 
I  am.  He  was  Adam,  the  son  of  Adam,  the  son  of 
Robert.  He  and  my  father  did  many  an  ill  deed  to- 
gether." 

"Ay,  to  the  stones  be  it  said.  Sure,  now,  there  was, 
even  till  this  weary  day,  no  man  or  woman  who  had  a 
good  word  for  Adam  Blair." 

"And  why  that  .  .  .  why  till  this  day?" 

"It  is  not  yet  the  third  hour  since  he  went  into  the 
silence." 

Neil  Ross  uttered  a  sound  like  a  stifled  curse.  For  a 
time  he  trudged  wearily  on. 

"Then  I  am  too  late,"  he  said  at  last,  but  as  though 
speaking  to  himself.  "I  had  hoped  to  see  him  face  to 
face  again,  and  curse  him  between  the  eyes.  It  was 
he  who  made  Murtagh  Ross  break  his  troth  to  my 

*"The  farm  in  the  hollow  of  the  yellow  flowers.11 


THE  SIN-EATER  131 

mother,  and  marry  that  other  woman,  barren  at  that, 
God  be  praised!     And  they  say  ill  of  him,  do  they?" 

"Ay,  it  is  evil  that  is  upon  him.  This  crime  and  that, 
God  knows ;  and  the  shadow  of  murder  on  his  brow  and 
in  his  eyes.  Well,  well,  'tis  ill  to  be  speaking  of  a  man 
in  corpse,  and  that  near  by.  "Pis  Himself  only  that 
knows,  Neil  Ross." 

11  May  be  ay  and  maybe  no.  But  where  is  it  that  I 
can  be  sleeping  this  night,  Sheen  Macarthur?" 

"They  will  not  be  taking  a  stranger  at  the  farm  this 
night  of  the  nights,  I  am  thinking.  There  is  no  place 
else  for  seven  miles  yet,  when  there  is  the  clachan,  be- 
fore you  will  be  coming  to  Fionnaphort.  There  is  the 
warm  byre,  Neil,  my  man;  or,  if  you  can  bide  by  my 
peats,  you  may  rest,  and  welcome,  though  there  is  no 
bed  for  you,  and  no  food  either  save  some  of  the  por- 
ridge that  is  over." 

"And  that  will  do  well  enough  for  me,  Sheen;  and 
Himself  bless  you  for  it." 

And  so  it  was. 

•  ••'•'  '•'  "•  • 

After  old  Sheen  Macarthur  had  given  the  wayfarer 
food — poor  food  at  that,  buit  welcome  to  one  nigh 
starved,  and  for  the  heartsome  way  it  was  given,  and 
because  of  the  thanks  to  God  that  was  upon  it  before 
even  spoon  was  lifted — she  told  him  a  lie.  It  was  the 
good  lie  of  tender  love. 

"Sure  now,  after  all,  Neil,  my  man,"  she  said,  "it 
is  sleeping  at  the  farm  I  ought  to  be,  for  Maisie  Mac- 
donald,  the  wise  woman,  will  be  sitting  by  the  corpse, 
and  there  will  be  none  to  keep  her  company.  It  is 
there  I  must  be  going;  and  if  I  am  weary,  there  is  a 


132       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

good  bed  for  me  just  beyond  the  dead-board,  which  I 
am  not  minding  at  all.  So,  if  it  is  tired  you  are  sitting 
by  the  peats,  lie  down  on  my  bed  there,  and  have  the 
sleep;  and  God  be  with  you." 

With  that  she  went,  and  soundlessly,  for  Neil  Ross 
was  already  asleep,  where  he  sat  on  an  upturned  claar, 
with  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  his  flame-lit  face  in 
his  hands. 

The  rain  had  ceased ;  but  the  mist  still  hung  over  tni 
land,  though  in  thin  veils  now,  and  these  slowly  drift- 
ing seaward.  Sheen  stepped  wearily  along  the  stony 
path  that  led  from  her  bothy  to  the  farm-house.  She 
stood  still  once,  the  fear  upon  her,  for  she  saw  three 
or  four  blurred  yellow  gleams  moving  beyond  her,  east- 
ward, along  the  dyke.  She  knew  what  they  were — the 
corpse-lights  that  on  the  night  of  death  go  between  the 
bier  and  the  place  of  burial.  More  than  once  she  had 
seen  them  before  the  last  hour,  and  by  that  token  had 
known  the  end  to  be  near. 

Good  Catholic  that  she  was,  she  crossed  herself,  and 
took  heart.  Then  muttering 

"Crois  nan  naoi  aingeal  learn 
'O  mhullach  mo  chinn 
Gu  craican  mo  bhonn." 

(The  cross  of  the  nine  angels  be  about  me, 
Ixom  the  top  of  my  head 
To  the  soles  of  my  feet), 

she  went  on  her  way  fearlessly. 

When  she  came  to  the  White  House,  she  entered  by 


THE  SIN-EATEE  133 

the  milk-shed  that  was  between  the  byre  and  the  kitchen. 
At  the  end  of  it  was  a  paved  place,  with  washing-tubs. 
At  one  of  these  stood  a  girl  that  served  in  the  house — 
an  ignorant  lass  called  Jessie  McFall,  out  of  Oban.  She 
was  ignorant,  indeed,  not  to  know  that  to  wash  clothes 
with  a  newly  dead  body  near  by  was  an  ill  thing  to  do. 
Was  it  not  a  matter  for  the  knowing  that  the  corpse 
could  hear,  and  might  rise  up  in  the  night  and  clothe 
itself  in  a  clean  white  shroud? 

She  was  still  speaking  to  the  lassie  when  Maisie  Mac- 
donald,  the  deid-watcher,  opened  the  door  of  the  room 
behind  the  kitchen  to  see  who  it  was  that  was  come. 
The  two  old  women  nodded  silently.  It  was  not  till 
Sheen  was  in  the  closed  room,  midway  in  which  some- 
thing covered  with  a  sheet  lay  on  a  board,  that  any 
word  was  spoken. 

"Duit  sith  mor,  Beann  Macdonald." 

"And  deep  peace  to  you,  too,  Sheen;  and  to  him  that 
is  there."  . 

"Och,  ochone,  mise  'n  diugh;  'tis  a  dark  hour  this." 

"Ay;  it  is  bad.  Will  you  have  been  hearing  or  see- 
ing anything?" 

"Well,  as  for  that,  I  am  thinking  I  saw  lights  mov- 
ing betwixt  here  and  the  green  place  over  there." 

"The  corpse-lights?" 

"Well,  it  is  calling  them  that  they  are." 

"I  thought  they  would  be  out.  And  I  have  been 
hearing  the  noise  of  the  planks — the  cracking  of  the 
boards,  you  know,  that  will  be  used  for  the  coffin  to- 
morrow. ' ' 

A  long  silence  followed.  The  old  women  had  seated 
themselves  by  the  corpse,  their  cloaks  over  their  heads. 


134      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

The  room  was  fireless,  and  was  lit  only  by  a  tall  wax 
death-candle,  kept  against  the  hour  of  the  going. 

At  last  Sheen  began  swaying  slowly  to  and  fro,  croon- 
ing low  the  while.  "I  would  not  be  for  doing  that, 
Sheen  Macarthur, ' '  said  the  deid-watcher  in  a  low  voice, 
but  meaningly;  adding,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "The 
mice  have  all  left  the  house." 

Sheen  sat  upright,  a  look  half  of  terror,  half  of  awe 
in  her  eyes. 

"God  save  the  sinful  soul  that  is  hiding/7  she  whis- 
pered. 

Well  she  knew  what  Maisie  meant.  If  the  soul  of 
the  dead  be  a;  lost  soul  it  knows  its  doom.  The  house 
of  death  is  the  house  of  sanctuary ;  but  before  the  dawn 
that  follows  the  death-night  the  soul  must  go  forth, 
whosoever  or  whatsoever  wait  for  it  in  the  homeless, 
shelterless  plains  of  air  around  and  beyond.  If  it  be 
well  with  the  soul,  it  need  have  no  fear ;  if  it  be  not  ill 
with  the  soul,  it  may  fare  forth  with  surety;  but  if  it 
be  ill  with  the  soul,  ill  will  the  going  be.  Thus  is  it 
that  the  spirit  of  an  evil  man  cannot  stay,  and  yet  dare 
not  go:  and  so  it  strives  to  hide  itself  in  secret  places 
anywhere,  in  dark  channels  and  blind  walls;  and  the 
wise  creatures  that  live  near  man  smell  the  terror,  and 
flee.  Maisie  repeated  the  saying  of  Sheen,  then,  after 
a  silence,  added: 

"Adam  Blair  will  not  lie  in  his  grave  for  a  year  and 
a  day  because  of  the  sins  that  are  upon  him;  and  it  is 
knowing  that,  they  are  here.  He  will  be  the  Watcher 
of  the  Dead  for  a  year  and  a  day. ' ' 

"Ay,  sure,  there  will  be  dark  prints  in  the  dawn-dew 
over  yonder." 


THE  SIN-EATER  135 

Once  more  the  old  women  relapsed  into  silence. 
Through  the  night  there  was  a  sighing  sound.  It  was 
not  the  sea,  which  was  too  far  off  to  be  heard  save  in  a 
day  of  storm.  The  wind  it  was,  that  was  dragging  it- 
self across  the  sodden  moors  like  a  wounded  thing, 
moaning  and  sighing. 

Out  of  sheer  weariness,  Sheen  twice  rocked  forward 
from  her  stool,  heavy  with  sleep.  At  last  Maisie  led 
her  over  to  the  niche-bed  opposite,  and  laid  her  down 
there,  and  waited  till  the  deep  furrows  in  the  face  re- 
laxed somewhat,  and  the  thin  breath  labored  slow  across 
the  fallen  jaw. 

"Poor  old  woman, "  she  muttered,  heedless  of  her 
own  gray  hairs  and  grayer  years;  "a  bitter,  bad  thing 
it  is  to  be  old,  old  and  weary.  'Tis  the  sorrow,  that. 
God  keep  the  pain  of  it!" 

As  for  herself,  she  did  not  sleep  at  all  that  night,  but 
sat  between  the  living  and  the  dead,  with  her  plaid 
shrouding  her.  Once,  when  Sheen  gave  a  low,  terrified 
scream  in  her  sleep,  she  rose,  and  in  a  loud  voice  cried, 
"Shteoch-odt  Away  with  you!"  And  with  that  she 
lifted  the  shroud  from  the  dead  man,  and  took  the 
pennies  off  the  eyelids,  and  lifted  each  lid;  then,  star- 
ing into  these  filmed  wells,  muttered  an  ancient  incan- 
tation that  would  compel  the  soul  of  Adam  Blair  to 
leave  the  spirit  of  Sheen  alone,  and  return  to  the  cold 
corpse  that  was  its  coffin  till  the  wood  was  ready. 

The  dawn  came  at  last.  Sheen  slept,  and  Adam  Blair 
slept  a  deeper  sleep,  and  Maisie  stared  out  of  her  wan, 
weary  eyes  against  the  red  and  stormy  flares  of  light 
that  came  into  the  sky. 

When,    an    hour    after    sunrise,    Sheen    Macarthur 


136      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

reached  her  bothy,  she  found  Neil  Eoss,  heavy  with 
slumber,  upon  her  bed.  The  fire  was  not  out,  though 
no  flame  or  spark  was  visible ;  but  she  stooped  and  blew 
at  the  heart  of  the  peats  till  the  redness  came,  and  once 
it  came  it  grew.  Having  done  this,  she  kneeled  and  said 
a  rune  of  the  morning,  and  after  that  a  prayer,  and  then 
a  prayer  for  the  poor  man  Neil.  She  could  pray  no 
more  because  of  the  tears.  She  rose  and  put  the  meal 
and  water  into  the  pot  for  the  porridge  to  be  ready 
against  his  awaking.  One  of  the  hens  that  was  there 
came  and  pecked  at  her  ragged  skirt.  "Poor  beastie," 
she  said.  ' '  Sure,  that  will  just  be  the  way  I  am  pulling 
at  the  white  robe  of  the  Mother  o'  God.  'Tis  a  bit  meal 
for  you,  cluckie,  and  for  me  a  healing  hand  upon  my 
tears.  0,  och,  ochone,  the  tears,  the  tears!" 

It  was  not  till  the  third  hour  after  sunrise  of  that 
bleak  day  in  that  winter  of  the  winters,  that  Neil  Ross 
stirred  and  arose.  He  ate  in  silence.  Once  he  said 
that  he  smelt  the  snow  coming  out  of  the  north.  Sheen 
said  no  word  at  all. 

After  the  porridge,  he  took  his  pipe,  but  there  was  no 
tobacco.  All  that  Sheen  had  was  the  pipeful  she  kept 
against  the  gloom  of  the  Sabbath.  It'  was  her  one  so- 
lace in  the  long  weary  week.  She  gave  him  this,  and 
held  a  burning  peat  to  his  mouth,  and  hungered  over 
the  thin,  rank  smoke  that  curled  upward. 

It  was  within  half-an-hour  of  noon  that,  after  an  al 
sence,  she  returned. 

"Not  between  you  and  me,  Neil  Ross,"  she  began  ab- 
ruptly, "but  just  for  the  asking,  and  what  is  beyond. 
Is  it  any  money  you  are  having  upon  you?" 

"No." 


THE  SIN-EATEB  137 

"  Nothing?" 

"Nothing." 

4 'Then  how  will  you  be  getting  across  to  lona?  It  is 
seven  long  miles  to  Fionnaphort,  and  bitter  cold  at 
that,  and  you  will  be  needing  food,  and  then  the  ferry, 
the  ferry  across  the  Sound,  you  know. ' ' 

"Ay,  I  know." 

"What  would  you  do  for  a  silver  piece,  Neil,  my 
man?" 

"You  have  none  to  give  me,  Sheen  Macarthur;  and, 
if  you  had,  it  would  not  be  taking  it  I  would. ' ' 

"Would  you  kiss  a  dead  man  for  a  crown- piece — a 
crown-piece  of  five  good  shillings?" 

Neil  Ross  stared.    Then  he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"It  is  Adam  Blair  you  are  meaning,  woman!  God 
curse  him  in  death  now  that  he  is  no  longer  in  life ! ' ' 

Then,  shaking  and  trembling,  he  sat  down  again,  and 
brooded  against  the  dull  red  glow  of  the  peats. 

But,  when  he  rose,  in  the  last  quarter  before  noon,  his 
face  was  white. 

"The  dead  are  dead,  Sheen  Macarthur.  They  can 
know  or  do  nothing.  I  will  do  it.  It  is  willed.  Yes, 
I  am  going  up  to  the  house  there.  And  now  I  am  going 
from  here.  God  Himself  has  my  thanks  to  you,  and 
my  blessing  too.  They  will  come  back  to  you.  It  is 
not  forgetting  you  I  will  be.  Good-bye." 

"Good-bye,  Neil,  son  of  the  woman  that  was  my 
friend.  A  south  wind  to  you!  Go  up  by  the  farm. 
In  the  front  of  the  house  you  will  see  what  you  will  be 
seeing.  Maisie  Macdonald  will  be  there.  She  will  tell 
you  what's  for  the  telling.  There  is  no  harm  in  it, 


138      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

sure;  sure,  the  dead  are  dead.     It  is  praying  for  you  I 
will  be,  Neil  Ross.    Peace  to  you!" 

"And  to  you,  Sheen. " 

And  with  that  the  man  went. 

When  Neil  Ross  reached  the  byres  of  the  farm  in 
the  wide  hollow,  he  saw  two  figures  standing  as  though 
awaiting  him,  but  separate,  and  unseen  of  the  other. 
In  front  of  the  house  was  a  man  he  knew  to  be  Andrew 
Blair;  behind  the  milk-shed  was  a  woman  he  guessed 
to  be  Maisie  Macdonald. 

It  was  the  woman  he  came  upon  first 

"'Are  you  the  friend  of  Sheen  Macarthur?"  she 
asked  in  a  whisper,  as  she  beckoned  him  to  the  door- 
way. 

"I  am." 

"I  am  knowing  no  names  or  anything.  And  no  one 
here  will  know  you,  I  am  thinking.  So  do  the  thing 
and  begone." 

"There  is  no  harm  to  it?" 

"None." 

"It  will  be  a  thing  often  done,  is  it  not?" 

"Ay,  sure." 

"And  the  evil  does  not  abide?" 

"No.  The  .  .  .  the  .  .  .  person  .  .  .  the  person  takes 
them  away,  and  ..." 

"Them?" 

"For  sure,  man!  Them  .  .  .  the  sins  of  the  corpse. 
He  takes  them  away;  and  are  you  for  thinking  God 
would  let  the  innocent  suffer  for  the  guilty?  No  .  .  . 
the  person  ...  the  Sin-Eater,  you  know  .  .  .  takes 
them  away  on  himself,  and  one  by  one  the  air  of  heaven 


THE  SIN-EATER  139 

washes  them  away  till  he,  the  Sin-Eater,  is  clean  and 
whole  as  before.7' 

"But  if  it  is  a  man  you  hate  ...  if  it  is  a  corpse 
that  is  the  corpse  of  one  who  has  been  a  curse  and  a  foe 
.  .  .  if  .  .  ." 

"Sst!  Be  still  now  with  your  foolishness.  It  is  only 
an  idle  saying,  I  am  thinking.  Do  it,  and  take  the 
money  and  go.  It  will  be  hell  enough  for  Adam  Blair, 
miser  as  he  was,  if  he  is  for  knowing  that  five  good 
shillings  of  his  money  are  to  go  to  a  passing  tramp  be- 
cause of  an  old,  ancient  silly  tale." 

Neil  Ross  laughed  low  at  that.  It  was  for  pleasure 
to  him. 

' '  Hush  wi'  ye !  Andrew  Blair  is  waiting  round  there. 
Say  that  I  have  sent  you  round,  as  I  have  neither  bite 
nor  bit  to  give.'' 

Turning  on  his  heel,  Neil  walked  slowly  round  to  the 
front  of  the  house.  A  tall  man  was  there,  gaunt  and 
brown,  with  hairless  face  and  lank  brown  hair,  but 
with  eyes  cold  and  gray  as  the  sea. 

"Good  day  to  you,  an'  good  faring.  Will  you  be 
passing  this  way  to  anywhere  ? ' ' 

"Health  to  you.  I  am  a  stranger  here.  It  is  on  my 
way  to  lona  I  am.  But  I  have  the  hunger  upon  me. 
There  is  not  a  brown  bit  in  my  pocket.  I  asked  at  the 
door  there,  near  the  byres.  The  woman  told  me  she 
could  give  me  nothing — not  a  penny  even,  worse  luck — 
nor,  for  that,  a  drink  of  warm  milk.  'Tis  a  sore  land 
this." 

"You  have  the  Gaelic  of  the  Isles.  Is  it  from  lona 
you  are?" 

"It  is  from  the  Isles  of  the  West  I  come." 


140      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 


"From  Tiree  .    .    .  from  Coll? 
"No." 


"From  the  Long  Island  ...  or  from  Uist  ...  or 
maybe  from  Benbecula?" 

"No." 

"Oh  well,  sure  it  is  no  matter  to  me.  But  may  I  be 
asking  your  name?" 

"Macallum." 

"Do  you  know  there  is  a  death  here,  Macallum?" 

"If  I  didn't  I  would  know  it  now,  because  of  what 
lies  yonder." 

Mechanically  Andrew  Blair  looked  round.  As  he 
knew,  a  rough  bier  was  there,  that  was  made  of  a  dead- 
board  laid  upon  three  milking-stools.  Beside  it  was  a 
claar,  a  small  tub  to  hold  potatoes.  On  the  bier  was 
a  corpse,  covered  with  a  canvas  sheeting  that  looked 
like  a  sail. 

"He  was  a  worthy  man,  my  father,"  began  the  son 
of  the  dead  man,  slowly;  "but  he  had  his  faults,  like  all 
of  us.  I  might  even  be  saying  that  he  had  his  sins,  to 
the  Stones  be  it  said.  You  will  be  knowing,  Macallum, 
what  is  thought  among  the  folk  .  .  .  that  a  stranger, 
passing  by,  may  take  away  the  sins  of  the  dead,  and 
that,  too,  without  any  hurt  whatever  .  .  .  any  hurt 
whatever. ' ' 

"Ay,  sure." 

"And  you  will  be  knowing  what  is  done?" 

"Ay." 

"With  the  bread  .  .  .  and  the  water  .  .  .!" 

"Ay." 

"It  is  a  small  thing  to  do.     It  is  a  Christian  thing. 


THE  SIN-EATEE  141 

I  would  be  doing  it  myself,  and  that  gladly,  but  the 
.  .  .  the  .  .  .  passer-by  who  ..." 

"It  is  talking  of  the  Sin-Eater  you  are?" 

"Yes,  yes,  for  sure.  The  Sin-Eater  as  he  is  called 
— and  a  good  'Christian  act  it  is,  for  all  that  the  min- 
isters and  the  priests  make  a  frowning  at  it — the  Sin- 
Eater  must  be  a  stranger.  He  must  be  a  stranger,  and 
should  know  nothing  of  the  dead  man — above  all,  bear 
him  no  grudge." 

At  that  Neil  Ross's  eyes  lightened  for  a  moment. 

1  'And  why  that?" 

"Who  knows?  I  have  heard  this,  and  I  have  heard 
that.  If  the  Sin-Eater  was  hating  the  dead  man  he 
could  take  the  sins  and  fling  them  into  the  sea,  and  they 
would  be  changed  into  demons  of  the  air  that  would 
harry  the  flying  soul  till  Judgment-Day." 

"And  how  would  that  thing  be  done?" 

The  man  spoke  with  flashing  eyes  and  parted  lips, 
the  breath  coming  swift.  Andrew  Blair  looked  at  him 
suspiciously;  and  hesitated,  before,  in  a  cold  voice,  he 
spoke  again. 

"That  is  all  folly,  I  am  thinking,  Macallum.  Maybe 
it  is  all  folly,  the  whole  of  it.  But,  see  here,  I  have  no 
time  to  be  talking  with  you.  If  you  will  take  the  bread 
and  the  water  you  shall  have  a  good  meal  if  you  want 
it,  and  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  yes,  look  you,  my  man,  I  will  be 
giving  you  a  shilling  too,  for  luck." 

"I  will  have  no  meal  in  this  house,  Anndramhic- 
Adam ;  nor  will  I  do  this  thing  unless  you  will  be  giv- 
ing me  two  silver  half-crowns.  That  is  the  sum  I  must 
have,  or  no  other." 


142      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

"Two  half-crowns!     Why,  man,  for  one  half-crown 
» 

* '  Then  be  eating  the  sins  o '  your  father  yourself,  An- 
drew Blair!  It  is  going  I  am." 

"Stop,  man!  Stop,  Macallum.  See  here — I  will  be 
giving  you  what  you  ask." 

"So  be  it.     Is  the  ...  Are  you  ready?" 

"Ay,  come  this  way." 

With  that  the  two  men  turned  and  moved  slowly  to- 
wards the  bier. 

In  the  doorway  of  the  house  stood  a  man  and  two 
women ;  farther  in,  a  woman ;  and  at  the  window  to  the 
left,  the  serving-wench,  Jessie  McFall,  and  two  men  of 
the  farm.  Of  those  in  the  doorway,  the  man  was  Peter, 
the  half-witted  youngest  brother  of  Andrew  Blair;  the 
taller  and  older  woman  was  Catreen,  the  widow  of 
Adam,  the  second  brother;  and  the  thin,  slight  woman, 
with  staring  eyes  and  drooping  mouth,  was  Muireall, 
the  wife  of  Andrew.  The  old  woman  behind  these  was 
Maisie  Macdonald. 

Andrew  Blair  stooped  and  took  a  saucer  out  of  the 
claar.  This  he  put  upon  the  covered  breast  of  the 
corpse.  He  stooped  again,  and  brought  forth  a  thick 
square  piece  of  new-made  bread.  That  also  he  placed 
upon  the  breast  of  the  corpse.  Then  he  stooped  again, 
and  with  that  he  emptied  a  spoonful  of  salt  alongside 
the  bread. 

"I  must  see  the  corpse,"  said  Neil  Ross  simply. 

"It  is  not  needful,  Macallum." 

1 '  I  must  be  seeing  the  corpse,  I  tell  you — and  for  that, 
too,  the  bread  and  the  water  should  be  on  the  naked 
breast." 


THE  SIN-EATEE  143 

"No,  no,  man;  it  .  .  ." 

But  here  a  voice,  that  of  Maisie  the  wise  woman,  came 
upon  them,  saying  that  the  man  was  right,  and  that  the 
eating  of  the  sins  should  be  done  in  that  way  and  no 
other. 

With  an  ill  grace  the  son  of  the  dead  man  drew  back 
the  sheeting.  Beneath  it,  the  corpse  was  in  a  clean 
white  shirt,  a  death-gown  long  ago  prepared,  that  cov- 
ered him  from  his  neck  to  his  feet,  and  left  only  the 
dusky  yellowish  face  exposed. 

While  Andrew  Blair  unfastened  the  shirt  and  placed 
the  saucer  and  the  bread  and  the  salt  on  the  breast,  the 
man  beside  him  stood  staring  fixedly  on  the  frozen  fea- 
tures of  the  corpse.  The  new  laird  had  to  speak  to  him 
twice  before  he  heard. 

"I  am  ready.  And  you,  now?  What  is  it  you  are 
muttering  over  against  the  lips  of  the  dead?" 

* '  It  is  giving  him  a  message  I  am.  There  is  no  harm 
in  that,  sure?" 

"Keep  to  your  own  folk,  Macallum.  You  are  from 
the  West  you  say,  and  we  are  from  the  North.  There 
can  be  no  messages  between  you  and  a  Blair  of  Strath- 
more,  no  messages  for  you  to  be  giving." 

"He  that  lies  here  knows  well  the  man  to  whom  I  am 
sending  a  message" — and  at  this  response  Andrew 
Blair  scowled  darkly.  He  would  fain  have  sent  the  man 
about  his  business,  but  he  feared  he  might  get  no  other. 

"It  is  thinking  I  am  that  you  are  not  a  Macallum  at 
all.  I  know  all  of  that  name  in  Mull,  lona,  Skye,  and 
the  near  isles.  What  will  the  name  of  your  naming 
be,  and  of  your  father,  and  of  his  place?" 

Whether  he  really  wanted  an  answer,  or  whether  he 


144      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

sought  only  to  divert  the  man  from  his  procrastination, 
his  question  had  a  satisfactory  result. 

"Well,  now,  it's  ready  I  am,  Anndra-mhic-Adam. " 

"With  that,  Andrew  Blair  stooped  once  more  and  from 
the  claar  brought  a  small  jug  of  water.  From  this  he 
filled  the  saucer. 

"You  know  what  to  say  and  what  to  do,  Macallum." 

There  was  not  one  there  who  did  not  have  a  shortened 
breath  because  of  the  mystery  that  was  now  before 
them,  and  the  fearfulness  of  it.  Neil  Koss  drew  himself 
up,  erect,  stiff,  with  white,  drawn  face.  All  who  waited, 
save  Andrew  Blair,  thought  that  the  moving  of  his  lips 
was  because  of  the  prayer  that  was  slipping  upon  them, 
like  the  last  lapsing  of  the  ebb-tide.  But  Blair  was 
watching  him  closely,  and  knew  that  it  was  no  prayer 
which  stole  out  against  the  blank  air  that  was  around  the 
dead. 

Slowly  Neil  Ross  extended  his  right  arm.  He  took  a 
pinch  of  the  salt  and  put  it  in  the  saucer,  then  took 
another  pinch  and  sprinkled  it  upon  the  bread.  His 
hand  shook  for  a  moment  as  he  touched  the  saucer.  But 
there  was  no  shaking  as  he  raised  it  towards  his  lips, 
or  when  he  held  it  before  him  when  he  spoke. 

"With  this  water  that  has  salt  in  it,  and  has  lain  on 
thy  corpse,  O  Adam  mhic  Anndra  mhic  Adam  Mor,  I 
drink  away  all  the  evil  that  is  upon  thee  .  .  ." 

There  was  throbbing  silence  while  he  paused. 

"...  And  may  it  be  upon  me  and  not  upon  thee,  if 
with  this  water  it  cannot  flow  away." 

Thereupon,  he  raised  the  saucer  and  passed  it  thrice 
round  the  head  of  the  corpse  sunways ;  and,  having  done 
this,  lifted  it  to  his  lips  and  drank  as  much  as  his 


THE  SIN-EATEB  145 

mouth  would  hold.  Thereafter  he  poured  the  remnant 
over  his  left  hand,  and  let  it  trickle  to  the  ground.  Then 
he  took  the  piece  of  bread.  Thrice,  too,  he  passed  it 
round  the  head  of  the  corpse  sunways. 

He  turned  and  looked  at  the  man  by  his  side,  then  at 
the  others,  who  watched  him  with  beating  hearts. 

With  a  loud  clear  voice  he  took  the  sins. 

"Thoir  dhomh  do  ciontachd,  0  Adam  mhic  Anndra 
mhic  Adam  Mor!  Give  me  thy  sins  to  take  away  from 
thee !  Lo,  now,  as  I  stand  here,  I  break  this  bread  that 
has  lain  on  thee  in  corpse,  and  I  am  eating  it,  I  am,  and 
in  that  eating  I  take  upon  me  the  sins  of  thee,  0  man 
that  was  alive  and  is  now  white  with  the  stillness  I" 

Thereupon  Neil  Boss  broke  the  bread  and  ate  of  it, 
and  took  upon  himself  the  sins  of  Adam  Blair  that  was 
dead.  It  was  a  bitter  swallowing,  that.  The  remainder 
of  the  bread  he  crumbled  in  his  hand,  and  threw  it  on 
the  ground,  and  trod  upon  it.  Andrew  Blair  gave  a 
sigh  of  relief.  His  cold  eyes  lightened  with  malice. 

"Be  off  with  you,  now,  Macallum.  We  are  wanting 
no  tramps  at  the  farm  here,  and  perhaps  you  had  better 
not  be  trying  to  get  work  this  side  lona ;  for  it  is  known 
as  the  Sin-Eater  you  will  be,  and  that  won't  be  for  the 
helping,  I  am  thinking !  There — there  are  the  two  half- 
crowns  for  you  .  .  .  and  may  they  bring  you  no  harm, 
you  that  are  Scapegoat  now!" 

The  Sin-Eeater  turned  at  that,  and  stared  like  a  hill- 
bull.  Scapegoat!  Ay,  that's  what  he  was.  Sin-Eater, 
Scapegoat !  Was  he  not,  too,  another  Judas,  to  have  sold 
for  silver  that  which  was  not  for  the  selling?  No,  no, 
for  sure  Maisie  Macdonald  could  tell  him  the  rune  that 


146       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOBIES 

would  serve  for  the  easing  of  this  burden.  He  would 
soon  be  quit  of  it. 

Slowly  he  took  the  money,  turned  it  over,  and  put  it 
in  his  pocket. 

"I  am  going,  Andrew  Blair,"  he  said  quietly,  "I  am 
going  now.  I  will  not  say  to  him  that  is  there  in  the 
silence,  A  chuid  do  Pharas  da! — nor  will  I  say  to  you, 
Gu'n  gleidheadh  Dia  thu, — nor  will  I  say  to  this  dwell- 
ing that  is  the  home  of  thee  and  thine,  Gu'n  beannaic- 
headh  Dia  an  tigh!"* 

Here  there  was  a  pause.  All  listened.  Andrew  Blair 
shifted  uneasily,  the  furtive  eyes  of  him  going  this  way 
and  that,  like  a  ferret  in  the  grass. 

"But,  Andrew  Blair,  I  will  say  this:  when  you  fare 
abroad,  Droch  caoidh  ort!  and  when  you  go  upon  the 
water,  Gaoth  gun  direadh  ort!  Ay,  ay,  Anndra-mhic- 
Adam,  Dia  ad  aghaidh  's  ad  aodann  .  .  .  c,gus  bas 
dwnach  ort!  Dhonas  's  dholas  ort,  a\gus  leat-sa!"-f 

The  bitterness  of  these  word  was  like  snow  in  June 
upon  all  there.  They  stood  amazed.  None  spoke.  No 
one  moved. 

Neil  Ross  turned  upon  his  heel,  and,  with  a  bright 
light  in  his  eyes,  walked  away  from  the  dead  and  the 
living.  He  went  by  the  byres,  whence  he  had  come. 
Andrew  Blair  remained  where  he  was,  now  glooming 

*A  chuid  do  Pharas  da!  "His  share  of  heaven  be  his."  Gu'n 
gleidheadh  Dia  thu,  "May  God  preserve  you."  Gu'n  beannaic- 
headh  Dia  an  tigh !  ' '  God  '&  blessing  on  this  house. ' ' 

f Droch  caoidh  ort!  "May  a  fatal  accident  happen  to  you"  (lit. 
"bad  moan  on  you").  Gaoth  gun  direadh  ort!  "May  you  drift 
to  your  drowning"  (lit.  "wind  without  direction  on  you").  Dia 
ad  aghaidh,  etc.,  "God  against  thee  and  in  thy  face  .  .  .  and 
may  a  death  of  woe  be  yours  .  .  .  Evil  and  sorrow  to  thee  and 
thine!" 


THE  SIN-EATER  147 

at  the  corpse,  now  biting  his  nails  and  staring  at  the 
damp  sods  at  his  feet. 

When  Neil  reached  the  end  of  the  milkshed  he  saw 
Maisie  Macdonald  there,  waiting. 

" These  were  ill  sayings  of  yours,  Neil  Ross,"  she  said 
in  a  low  voice,  so  that  she  might  not  be  overheard  from 
the  house. 

'  *  So,  it  is  knowing  me  you  are. ' ' 

1  'Sheen  Macarthur  told  me." 

"I  have  good  cause." 

"That  is  a  true  word.     I  know  it." 

"Tell  me  this  thing.  What  is  the  rune  that  is  said 
for  the  throwing  into  the  sea  of  the  sins  of  the  dead? 
See  here,  Maisie  Macdonald.  There  is  no  money  of  that 
man  that  I  would  carry  a  mile  with  me.  Here  it  is. 
It  is  yours,  if  you  will  tell  me  that  rune." 

Maisie  took  the  money  hesitatingly.  Then,  stooping, 
she  said  slowly  the  few  lines  of  the  old,  old  rune. 

"Will  you  be  remembering  that?" 

"It  is  not  forgetting  it  I  will  be,  Maisie." 

"Wait  a  moment.     There  is  some  warm  milk  here. 

With  that  she  went,  and  then,  from  within,  beckoned 
to  him  to  enter. 

"There  is  no  one  here,  Neil  Boss.     Drink  the  milk." 

He  drank;  and  while  he  did  so  she  drew  a  leather 
pouch  from  some  hidden  place  in  her  dress. 

"And  now  I  have  this  to  give  you." 

She  counted  out  ten  pennies  and  two  farthings. 

"It  is  all  the  coppers  I  have.  You  are  welcome  to 
them.  Take  them,  friend  of  my  friend.  They  will  give 
you  the  food  you  need,  and  the  ferry  across  the  Sound." 


148      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

' '  I  will  do  that,  Maisie  Macdonald,  and  thanks  to  you. 
It  is  not  forgetting  it  I  will  be,  nor  you,  good  woman. 
And  now,  tell  me,  is  it  safe  that  I  am?  He  called  me 
a  'scapegoat',  he,  Andrew  Blair!  Can  evil  touch  me 
between  this  and  the  sea?" 

"You  must  go  to  the  place  where  the  evil  was  done 
to  you  and  yours — and  that,  I  know,  is  on  the  west  side 
of  lona.  Go,  and  God  preserve  you.  But  here,  too,  is 
a  sian  that  will  be  for  the  safety." 

Thereupon,  with  swift  mutterings  she  said  this  charm : 
an  old,  familiar  Sian  against  Sudden  Harm: 

"Sian  a  chuir  Moire  air  Mac  ort, 
Sian  ro'  marbhadh,  sian  ro'  lot  ort, 
Sian  eadar  a'  chlioch  's  a'  ghlun, 
Sian  nan  Tri  ann  an  aon  ort, 
0  mhullach  do  chinn  gu  bonn  do  chois  ort: 
Sian  seachd  eadar  a  h-aon  ort, 
Sian  seachd  eadar  a  dha  ort, 
Sian  seachd  eadar  a  tri  ort, 
Sian  seachd  eadar  a  ceithir  ort, 
Sian  seachd  eadar  a  coig  ort 
Sian  seachd  eadar  a  sia  ort, 

Sian  seachd  paidir  nan  seach  paidir  dol  deiseil  ri 
diugh  narach  ort,  ga  do  ghleidheadh  bho  bheud 
's  bho  mhi-thapadh ! ' ' 

Scarcely  had  she  finished  before  she  heard  heavy  steps 
approaching. 

"Away  with  you,"  she  whispered,  repeating  in  a 
loud,  angry  tone,  "Away  with  you!  Seachad!  Seackad!" 

And  with  that  Neil  Ross  slipped  from  the  milk-shed 
and  crossed  the  yard,  and  was  behind  the  byres  before 


THE  SIN-EATER  149 

Andrew  Blair,  with  sullen  mien  and  swift,  wild  eyes, 
strode  from  the  house. 

It  was  with  a  grim  smile  on  his  face  that  Neil 
tramped  down  the  wet  heather  till  he  reached  the  high 
road,  and  fared  thence  as  through  a  marsh  because  of 
the  rains  there  had  been. 

For  the  first  mile  he  thought  of  the  angry  mind  of 
the  dead  man,  bitter  at  paying  of  the  silver.  For  the 
second  mile  he  thought  of  the  evil  that  had  been  wrought 
for  him  and  his.  For  the  third  mile  he  pondered  over 
all  that  he  had  heard  and  done  and  taken  upon  him 
that  day. 

Then  he  sat  down  upon  a  broken  granite  heap  by  the 
way,  and  brooded  deep  till  one  hour  went,  and  then  an- 
other, and  the  third  was  upon  him. 

A  man  driving  two  calves  came  towards  him  out  of 
the  west.  He  did  not  hear  or  see.  The  man  stopped; 
spoke  again.  Neil  gave  no  answer.  The  drover 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  hesitated,  and  walked  slowly  on, 
often  looking  back. 

An  hour  later  a  shepherd  came  by  the  way  he  him- 
self had  tramped.  He  was  a  tall,  gaunt  man  with  a 
squint.  The  small,  pale-blue  eyes  glittered  out  of  a 
mass  of  red  hair  that  almost  covered  his  face.  He  stood 
still,  opposite  Neil,  and  leaned  on  his  cromak. 

"Latha  math  leat,"  he  said  at  last;  "I  wish  you  good 
day." 

Neil  glanced  at  him,  but  did  not  speak. 

"What  is  your  name,  for  I  seem  to  know  you?" 

But  Neil  had  already  forgotten  him.  The  shepherd 
took  out  his  snuff-mull,  helped  himself,  and  handed  the 
mull  to  the  lonely  wayfarer.  Neil  mechanically  helped 
himself. 


150      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

"Am  bheil  thu  'dol  do  Fhionphort?"  tried  the  shep- 
herd again:  "Are  you  going  to  Fionnaphort  ? " 

"Tha  mise  'dol  a  dh'  I-challum-chille, ' '  Neil  an- 
swered, in  a  low,  weary  voice,  and  as  a  man  adream: 
"I  am  on  my  way  to  lona." 

"I  am  thinking  I  know  now  who  you  are.  You  are 
the  man  Macallum." 

Neil  looked,  but  did  not  speak.  His  eyes  dreamed 
against  what  the  other  could  not  see  or  know.  The 
shepherd  called  angrily  to  his  dogs  to  keep  the  sheep 
from  straying;  then,  with  a  resentful  air,  turned  to  his 
victim. 

"You  are  a  silent  man  for  sure,  you  are.  I'm  hoping 
it  is  not  the  curse  upon  you  already. ' ' 

"What  curse?" 

"Ah,  that  has  brought  the  wind  against  the  mist!  I 
was  thinking  so!" 

"What  curse?" 

"You  are  the  man  that  was  the  Sin-Eater  over 
there?" 

"Ay." 

"The  man  Macallum?" 

"Ay." 

"Strange  it  is,  but  three  days  ago  I  saw  you  in 
Tobermory,  and  heard  you  give  your  name  as  Neil  Ross 
to  an  lona  man  that  was  there." 

"Well?" 

"Oh,  sure,  it  is  nothing  to  me.  But  they  say  the 
Sin-Eater  should  not  be  a  man  with  a  hidden  lump  in 
his  pack."* 

"Why?" 

*i.e.   With  a  criminal  secret,  or  an  undiscovered  crime. 


THE  SIN-EATER  151 

"For  the  dead  know,  and  are  content.  There  is  no 
shaking  off  any  sins,  then — for  that  man." 

"It  is  a  lie." 

"Maybe  ay  and  maybe  no." 

"Well,  have  you  more  to  be  saying  to  me?  I  am 
obliged  to  you  for  your  company,  but  it  is  not  needing 
it  I  am,  though  no  offense. ' ' 

"Och,  man,  there's  no  offense  between  you  and  me. 
Sure,  there's  lona  in  me,  too;  for  the  father  of  my 
father  married  a  woman  that  was  the  granddaughter  of 
Tomais  Macdonald,  who  was  a  fisherman  there.  No,  no ; 
it  is  rather  warning  you  I  would  be." 

"And  for  what?" 

"Well,  well,  just  because  of  that  laugh  I  heard 
about." 

"What  laugh?" 

"The  laugh  of  Adam  Blair  that  is  dead." 

Neil  Ross  stared,  his  eyes  large  and  wild.  He  leaned 
a  little  forward.  No  word  came  from  him.  The  look 
that  was  on  his  face  was  the  question. 

"Yes,  it  was  this  way.  Sure,  the  telling  of  it  is  just 
as  I  heard  it.  After  you  ate  the  sins  of  Adam  Blair, 
the  people  there  brought  out  the  coffin.  When  they 
were  putting  him  into  it,  he  was  as  stiff  as  a  sheep  dead 
in  the  snow — and  just  like  that,  too,  with  his  eyes  wide 
open.  Well,  someone  saw  you  trampling  the  heather 
down  the  slope  that  is  in  front  of  the  house,  and  said, 
'  It  is  the  Sin-Eater ! '  With  that,  Andrew  Blair  sneered, 
and  said — 'Ay,  'tis  the  scapegoat  he  is!'  Then,  after 
a  while,  he  went  on,  'The  Sin-Eater  they  call  him;  ay, 
just  so;  and  a  bitter  good  bargain  it  is,  too,  if  all's  true 
that's  thought  true!'  And  with  that  he  laughed,  and 


152      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

then  his    wife    that    was    behind    him  laughed,   and 
then  ..." 

"Well,  what  then?" 

"Well,  'tis  Himself  that  hears  and  knows  if  it  is  true ! 
But  this  is  the  thing  I  was  told:  After  that  laughing 
there  was  a  stillness  and  a  dread.  For  all  there  saw 
that  the  corpse  had  turned  its  head  and  was  looking 
after  you  as  you  went  down  the  heather.  Then,  Neil 
Ross,  if  that  be  your  true  name,  Adam  Blair  that  was 
dead  put  up  his  white  face  against  the  sky,  and 
laughed." 

At  this,  Ross  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  gasping  sob. 

"It  is  a  lie,  that  thing!"  he  cried,  shaking  his  fist  at 
the  shepherd.  "It  is  a  lie." 

"It  is  no  lie.  And  by  the  same  token,  Andrew  Blair 
shrank  back  white  and  shaking,  and  his  woman  had  the 
swoon  upon  her,  and  who  knows  but  the  corpse  might 
have  come  to  life  again  had  it  not  been  for  Maisie  Mac- 
donald,  the  deid-watcher,  who  clapped  a  handful  of  salt 
on  his  eyes,  and  tilted  the  coffin  so  that  the  bottom  of  it 
slid  forward,  and  so  let  the  whole  fall  flat  on  the  ground, 
with  Adam  Blair  in  it  sideways,  and  as  likely  as  not 
cursing  and  groaning,  as  his  wont  was,  for  the  hurt 
both  to  his  old  bones  and  his  old  ancient  dignity." 

Ross  glared  at  the  man  as  though  the  madness  was 
upon  him.  Fear  and  horror  and  fierce  rage  swung  him 
now  this  way  and  now  that. 

"What  will  the  name  of  you  be,  shepherd?"  he  stul 
tered  huskily. 

"It  is  Eachainn  Gilleasbuig  I  am  to  ourselves;  ant 
the  English  of  that  for  those  who  have  no  Gaelic 
Hector  Gillespie ;  and  I  am  Eachainn  mac  Ian  mac  A] 


THE  SIN-EATER  153 

dair  of  Strathsheean  that  is  where  Sutherland  lies 
against  Ross." 

"Then  take  this  thing — and  that  is,  the  curse  of  the 
Sin-Eater !  And  a  bitter  bad  thing  may  it  be  upon  you 
and  yours." 

And  with  that  Neil  the  Sin-Eater  flung  his  hand  up 
into  the  air,  and  then  leaped  past  the  shepherd,  and  a 
minute  later  was  running  through  the  frightened  sheep, 
with  his  head  low,  and  a  white  foam  on  his  lips,  and  his 
eyes  red  with  blood  as  a  seal's  that  has  the  death- wound 
on  it. 

On  the  third  day  of  the  seventh  month  from  that 
day,  Aulay  Macneill,  coming  into  Balliemore  of  lona 
from  the  west  side  of  the  island,  said  to  old  Ronald 
MacCormick,  that  was  the  father  of  his  wife,  that  he 
had  seen  Neil  Ross  again,  and  that  he  was  "absent" — 
for  though  he  had  spoken  to  him,  Neil  would  not  an- 
swer, but  only  gloomed  at  him  from  the  wet  weedy  rock 
where  he  sat. 

The  going  back  of  the  man  had  loosed  every  tongue 
that  was  in  lona.  When,  too,  it  was  known  that  he 
was  wrought  in  some  terrible  way,  if  not  actually  mad, 
the  islanders  whispered  that  it  was  because  of  the  sins 
of  Adam  Blair.  Seldom  or  never  now  did  they  speak 
of  him  by  his  name,  but  simply  as  "The  Sin-Eater." 
The  thing  was  not  so  rare  as  to  cause  this  strangeness, 
nor  did  many  (and  perhaps  none  did)  think  that  the 
sins  of  the  dead  ever  might  or  could  abide  with  the 
living  who  had  merely  done  a  good  Christian  charitable 
thing.  But  there  was  a  reason. 

Not  long  after  Neil  Ross  had  come  again  to  lona,  and 


154      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

had  settled  down  in  the  ruined  roofless  house  on  the 
croft  of  Ballyrona,  just  like  a  fox  or  a  wild-cat,  as  the 
saying  was,  he  was  given  fishing-work  to  do  by  Aulay 
Macneill,  who  lived  at  Ard-an-teine,  at  the  rocky  north 
end  of  the  machar  or  plain  that  is  on  the  west  Atlantic 
coast  of  the  island. 

One  moonlit  night,  either  the  seventh  or  the  ninth 
after  the  earthing  of  Adam  Blair  at  his  own  place  in 
the  Ross,  Aulay  Macneill  saw  Neil  Ross  steal  out  of  the 
shadow  of  Ballyrona  and  make  for  the  sea.  Macneill 
was  there  by  the  rocks,  mending  a  lobster-creel.  He  had 
gone  there  because  of  the  sadness.  Well,  when  he  saw 
the  Sin -Eater,  he  watched. 

Neil  crept  from  rock  to  rock  till  he  reached  the  last 
fang  that  churns  the  sea  into  yeast  when  the  tide  sucks 
the  land  just  opposite. 

Then  he  called  out  something  that  Aulay  Macneill 
could  not  catch.  With  that  he  springs  up,  and  throws 
his  arms  above  him. 

"Then,"  says  Aulay  when  he  tells  the  tale,  "it  was 
like  a  ghost  he  was.  The  moonshine  was  on  his  face 
like  the  curl  o'  a  wave.  White!  there  is  no  whiteness 
like  that  of  the  human  face.  It  was  whiter  than  the 
foam  about  the  skerry  it  was;  whiter  than  the  moon 
shining;  whiter  than  .  .  .  well,  as  white  as  the  painted 
letters  on  the  black  boards  of  the  fishing-cobles.  There 
he  stood,  for  all  that  the  sea  was  about  him,  the  slip- 
slop waves  leapin'  wild,  and  the  tide  making,  too,  at 
that.  He  was  shaking  like  a  sail  two  points  off  the 
wind.  It  was  then  that,  all  of  a  sudden,  he  called  in  a 
womany,  screamin'  voice— 

"  'I  am  throwing  the  sins  of  Adam  Blair  into  the 


THE  SIN-EATER  155 

midst  of  ye,  white  dogs  o'  the  sea!  Drown  them,  tear 
them,  drag  them  away  out  into  the  black  deeps!  Ay, 
ay,  ay,  ye  dancin '  wild  waves,  this  is  the  third  time  I  am 
doing  it,  and  now  there  is  none  left;  no,  not  a  sin,  not 
a  sin ! 

"  '0-hi  0-ri,  dark  tide  o'  the  sea, 

I  am  giving  the  sins  of  a  dead  man  to  thee! 

By  the  Stones,  by  the  Wind,  by  the  Fire,  by  the  Tree, 

From  the  dead  man 's  sins  set  me  free,  set  me  free ! 

Adam  mhic  Anndra  mhic  Adam  and  me, 

Set  us  free!     Set  us  free!' 

"Ay,  sure,  the  Sin-Eater  sang  that  over  and  over; 
and  after  the  third  singing  he  swung  his  arms  and 
screamed : 

"  'And  listen  to  me,  black  waters  an'  running  tide, 
That  rune  is  the  good  rune  told  me  by  Maisie  the  wise, 
And  I  am  Neil  the  son  of  Silis  Macallum 
By  the  black-hearted  evil  man  Murtagh  Ross, 
That  was  the   friend  of  Adam  mac  Anndra,   God 
against  him!' 

And  with  that  he  scrambled  and  fell  into  the  sea.  But, 
as  I  am  Aulay  mac  Luais  and  no  other,  he  was  up  in  a 
moment,  an'  swimmin'  like  a  seal,  and  then  over  the 
rocks  again,  an'  away  back  to  that  lonely  roofless  place 
once  more,  laughing  wild  at  times,  an'  muttering  an' 
whispering. ' ' 

It  was  this  tale  of  Aulay  Macneill's  that  stood  be- 
tween Neil  Ross  and  the  isle-folk.  There  was  something 
behind  all  that,  they  whispered  one  to  another. 


156      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

So  it  was  always  the  Sin-Eater  he  was  called  at  last. 
None  sought  him.  The  few  children  who  came  upon 
him  now  and  again  fled  at  his  approach, 'or  at  the  very 
sight  of  him.  Only  Aulay  Macneill  saw  him  at  times, 
and  had  word  of  him. 

After  a  month  had  gone  by,  all  knew  that  the  Sin- 
Eater  was  wrought  to  madness  because  of  this  awful 
thing:  the  burden  of  Adam  Blair's  sins  would  not  go 
from  him !  Night  and  day  he  could  hear  them  laughing 
low,  it  was  said. 

But  it  was  the  quiet  madness.  He  went  to  and  fro 
like  a  shadow  in  the  grass,  and  almost  as  soundless  as 
that,  and  as  voiceless.  More  and  more  the  name  of 
him  grew  as  a  terror.  There  were  few  folk  on  that  wild 
west  coast  of  lona,  and  these  few  avoided  him  when  the 
word  ran  that  he  had  knowledge  of  strange  things,  and 
converse,  too,  with  the  secrets  of  the  sea. 

One  day  Aulay  Macneill,  in  his  boat,  but  dumb  with 
amaze  and  terror  for  him,  saw  him  at  high  tide  swim- 
ming on  a  long  roiling  wave  right  into  the  hollow  of 
the  Spouting  Cave.  In  the  memory  of  man,  no  one  had 
done  this  and  escaped  one  of  three  things:  a  snatching 
away  into  oblivion,  a  strangled  death,  or  madness.  The 
islanders  know  that  there  swims  into,  the  cave,  at  full 
tide,  a  Mar-Tarbh,  a  dreadful  creature  of  the  sea  that 
some  call  a  kelpie ;  only  it  is  not  a  kelpie,  which  is  like 
a  woman,  but  rather  is  a  sea-bull,  offspring  of  the  cattle 
that  are  never  seen.  Ill  indeed  for  any  sheep  or  goat, 
ay,  or  even  dog  or  child,  if  any  happens  to  be  leaning 
over  the  edge  of  the  Spouting  Cave  when  the  Mar-tarv 
roars;  for,  of  a  surety,  it  will  fall  in  and  straightway 
be  devoured. 


THE  SIN-EATER  157 

With  awe  and  trembling  Aulay  listened  for  the 
screaming  of  the  doomed  man.  It  was  full  tide,  and 
the  sea-beast  would  be  there. 

The  minutes  passed,  and  no  sign.  Only  the  hollow 
booming  of  the  sea,  as  it  moved  like  a  baffled  blind  giant 
round  the  cavern-bases;  only  the  rush  and  spray  of 
the  water  flung  up  the  narrow  shaft  high  into  the  windy 
air  above  the- cliff  it  penetrates. 

At  last  he  saw  what  looked  like  a  mass  of  seaweed 
swirled  out  on  the  surge.  It  was  the  Sin-Eater.  With 
a  leap,  Aulay  was  at  his  oars.  The  boat  swung  through 
the  sea.  Just  before  Neil  Ross  was  about  to  sink  for 
the  second  time,  he  caught  him  and  dragged  him  into 
the  boat. 

But  then,  as  ever  after,  nothing  was  to  be  got  out  of 
the  Sin-Eater  save  a  single  saying :  Tha  e  lamhan  fuar ! 
,Tha  e  lamhan  fuar! — "It  has  a  cold,  cold  hand!" 

The  telling  of  this  and  other  tales  left  none  free  upon 
the  island  to  look  upon  the  "scapegoat"  save  as  one 
accursed. 

It  was  in  the  third  month  that  a  new  phase  of  his 
madness  came  upon  Neil  Ross. 

The  horror  of  the  sea  and  the  passion  for  the  sea 
came  over  him  at  the  same  happening.  Oftentimes  he 
would  race  along  the  shore,  screaming  wild  names  to  it, 
now  hot  with  hate  and  loathing,  now  as  the  pleading 
of  a  man  with  the  woman  of  his  love.  And  strange 
chants  to  it,  too,  were  upon  his  lips.  Old,  old  lines  of 
forgotten  runes  were  overheard  by  Aulay  Macneill,  and 
not  Aulay  only;  lines  wherein  the  ancient  sea-name  of 
the  island,  loua,  that  was  given  to  it  long  before  it  was 


158      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

called  lona,  or  any  other  of  the  nine  names  that  are  said 
to  belong  to  it,  occurred  again  and  again. 

The  flowing  tide  it  was  that  wrought  him  thus.  At 
the  ebb  he  would  wander  across  the  weedy  slabs  or 
among  the  rocks,  silent,  and  more  like  a  lost  duinshee 
than  a  man. 

Then  again  after  three  months  a  change  in  his  mad- 
ness came.  None  knew  what  it  was,  though  Aulay  said 
that  the  man  moaned  and  moaned  because  of  the  awful 
burden  he  bore.  No  drowning  seas  for  the  sins  that 
could  not  be  washed  away,  no  grave  for  the  live  sins 
that  would  be  quick  till  the  day  of  the  Judgment ! 

For  weeks  thereafter  he  disappeared.  As  to  where 
he  was,  it  is  not  for  the  knowing. 

Then  at  last  came  that  third  day  of  the  seventh 
month  when,  as  I  have  said,  Aulay  Macneill  told  old 
Ronald  MacCormick  that  he  had  seen  the  Sin-Eater 
again. 

It  was  only  a  half-truth  that  he  told,  though.  For, 
after  he  had  seen  Neil  Ross  upon  the  rock,  he  had  fol- 
lowed him  when  he  rose,  and  wandered  back  to  the  roof- 
less place  which  he  haunted  now  as  of  yore.  Less 
wretched  a  shelter  now  it  was,  because  of  the  summer 
that  was  come,  though  a  cold,  wet  summer  at  that. 

* '  Is  that  you,  Neil  Ross  ? "  he  had  asked,  as  he  peered 
into  the  shadows  among  the  ruins  of  the  house. 

" That's  not  my  name,"  said  the  Sin-Eater;  and  he 
seemed  as  strange  then  and  there,  as  though  he  were  a 
castaway  from  a  foreign  ship. 

"And  what  will  it  be,  then,  you  that  are  my  friend, 
and  sure  knowing  me  as  Aulay  mac  Luais — Aulay  Mac 
neill  that  never  grudges  you  bit  or  sup?" 


THE  SIN-EATEE  159 

"1  am  Judas." 

"And  at  that  word,"  says  Aulay  Macneill,  when  he 
tells  the  tale,  "at  that  word  the  pulse  in  my  heart  was 
like  a  bat  in  a  shut  room.  But  after  a  bit  I  took  up  the 
talk. 

"  ' Indeed/  I  said;  'and  I  was  not  for  knowing  that. 
May  I  be  so  bold  as  to  ask  whose  son,  and  of  what 
place?' 

"But  all  he  said  to  me  was,  'I  am  Judas.' 

"Well,  I  said,  to  comfort  him,  'Sure,  it's  not  such  a 
bad  name  in  itself,  though  I  am  knowing  some  which 
have  a  more  home-like  sound/  But  no,  it  was  no  good. 

"  'I  am  Judas.  And  because  I  sold  the  Son  of  God 
for  five  pieces  of  silver  .  .  .' 

"But  here  I  interrupted  him  and  said,  'Sure,  now, 
Neil — I  mean,  Judas — it  was  eight  times  five.'  Yet  the 
simpleness  of  his  sorrow  prevailed,  and  I  listened  with 
the  wet  in  my  eyes. 

"  'I  am  Judas.  And  because  I  sold  the  Son  of  God 
for  five  silver  shillings,  He  laid  upon  me  all  the  name- 
less black  sins  of  the  world.  And  that  is  why  I  am  bear- 
ing them  till  the  Day  of  Days.'  " 

And  this  was  the  end  of  the  Sin-Eater ;  for  I  will  not 
tell  the  long  story  of  Aulay  Macneill,  that  gets  longer 
and  longer  every  winter ;  but  only  the  unchanging  close 
of  it. 

I  will  tell  it  in  the  words  of  Aulay. 

"A  bitter,  wild  day  it  was,  that  day  I  saw  him  to  see 
him  no  more.  It  was  late.  The  sea  was  red  with  the 
flamin'  light  that  burned  up  the  air  betwixt  lona  and 


160      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

all  that  is  west  of  West.  I  was  on  tlie  shore,  looking 
at  the  sea.  The  big  green  waves  came  in  like  the  chari- 
ots in  the  Holy  Book.  Well,  it  was  on  the  black  shoul- 
der of  one  of  them,  just  short  of  the  ton  o'  foam  that 
swept  above  it,  that  I  saw  a  spar  surgin'  by. 

"  'What  is  that?'  I  said  to  myself.  And  the  reason 
of  my  wondering  was  this:  I  saw  that  a  smaller  spar 
was  swung  across  it.  And  while  I  was  watching  that 
thing  another  great  billow  came  in  with  a  roar,  and 
hurled  the  double  spar  back,  and  not  so  far  from  me 
but  I  might  have  gripped  it.  But  who  would  have 
gripped  that  thing  if  he  were  for  seeing  what  I  saw  ? 

"It  is  Himself  knows  that  what  I  say  is  a  true  thing. 

"On  that  spar  was  Neil  Ross,  the  Sin-Eater.  Naked 
he  was  as  the  day  he  was  born.  And  he  was  lashed, 
too — ay,  sure,  he  was  lashed  to  it  by  ropes  round  and 
round  his  legs  and  his  waist  and  his  left  arm.  It  was 
the  Cross  he  was  on.  I  saw  that  thing  with  the  fear 
upon  me.  Ah,  poor  drifting  wreck  that  he  was !  Judas 
on  the  Cross!  It  was  his  eric! 

"But  even  as  I  watched,  shaking  in  my  limbs,  I  saw 
that  there  was  life  in  him  still.  The  lips  were  moving, 
and  his  right  arm  was  ever  for  swinging  this  way  and 
that.  'Twas  like  an  oar,  working  him  off  a  lee  shore; 
ay,  that  was  what  I  thought. 

"Then,  all  at  once,  he  caught  sight  of  me.  Well  he 
knew  me,  poor  man,  that  has  his  share  of  heaven  now, 
I  am  thinking! 

' '  He  waved,  and  called,  but  the  hearing  could  not  be, 
because  of  a  big  surge  o '  water  that  came  tumbling  down 
upon  him.  In  the  stroke  of  an  oar  he  was  swept  close 
by  the  rocks  where  I  was  standing.  In  that  floundering 


THE  SIN-EATER  161 

seethin'  whirlpool  I  saw  the  white  face  of  him  for  a 
moment,  an'  as  he  went  out  on  the  re-surge  like  a  hauled 
net,  I  heard  these  words  fallin'  against  my  ears: 

"  'An  eirig  m'anama  ...  In  ransom  for  my  soul!' 

"And  With  that  I  saw  the  double-spar  turn  over 
and  slide  down  the  back-sweep  of  a  drowning  big  wave. 
Ay,  sure,  it  went  out  to  the  deep  sea  swift  enough  then. 
It  was  in  the  big  eddy  that  rushes  between  Skerry-M6r 
and  Skerry-Beag.  I  did  not  see  it  again — no,  not  for 
the  quarter  of  an  hour,  I  am  thinking.  Then  I  saw 
just  the  whirling  top  of  it  rising  out  of  the  flying  yeast 
of  a  great,  black-blustering  wave,  that  was  rushing 
northward  before  the  current  that  is  called  the  Black- 
Eddy. 

"With  that  you  have  the  end  of  Neil  Ross;  ay,  sure, 
him  that  was  called  the  Sin-Eater.  And  that  is  a  true 
thing ;  and  may  God  save  us  the  sorrow  of  sorrows. 

"And  that  is  alL" 


GHOSTS  IN  SOLID  FORM 

BY  GAMBIER  BOLTON 
Ex-Pres.  The  Psychological  Society,  London,  F.B.G.S.,  F.Z.S.,  etc. 

CHAPTER  I 


' '  A  single  grain  of  solid  fact  is  worth  ten  tons  of  theory. ' ' 
"The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  I  find  this  conclusion  im- 
pressed upon  me,  that  the  greatest  thing  a  human  soul  ever  does 
in  this  world  is  to  SEE  something  and  tell  what  it  saw  in  a  plain 
way.  Hundreds  of  people  can  talk  for  one  who  can  tMnk,  but 
thousands  can  think  for  one  who  can  see.  To  SEE  clearly  is 
poetry,  prophecy,  and  religion  all  in  one." — JOHN  EUSKIN. 

WORKING  HYPOTHESIS 

THAT  under  certain  known  and  reasonable  condi- 
tions of  temperature,  light,  etc.,  entities,  existing 
in  a  sphere  outside  our  own,  have  been  demon- 
strated again  and  again  to  manifest  themselves  on  earth 
in  temporary  bodies  materialized  from  an,  at  present, 
undiscovered  source,  through  the  agency  of  certain  per- 
sons of  both  sexes,  termed  "sensitives,"  and  can  be  so 
demonstrated  to  any  person  who  will  provide  the  condi- 
tions proved  to  be  necessary  for  such  a  demonstration. 

CONDITIONS 

Looking  back  to  the  seven  years  of  my  life  which  I 
devoted  to  a  careful  and  critical  investigation  of  the 

162 


GHOSTS  IN  SOLID  FORM  163 

claim  made,  not  only  by  both  Occidental  and  Oriental 
mystics  but  by  well-known  men  of  science  like  Sir  Wil- 
liam Crookes,  Professor  Alfred  Kussel  Wallace,  and  oth- 
ers— that  it  was  possible  under  certain  clearly  defined 
conditions  to  produce,  apparently  out  of  nothing,  fully 
formed  bodies,  inhabited  by  (presumably)  human  enti- 
ties from  another  sphere — the  wonder  of  it  still  enthralls 
me;  the  apparent  impossibility  of  so  great  an  upheaval 
of  such  laws  of  Nature  as  we  are  at  present  acquainted 
with  being  proved  clearly  to  be  possible,  will  remain 
to  the  end  as  "the  wonder  of  wonders"  in  a  by  no 
means  uneventful  life. 

For,  as  compared  with  this,  that  greatest  of  Nature's 
mysteries — the  procreation  of  a  human  infant  by  either 
the  normal  or  mechanical  impregnation  of  an  ovum, 
its  months  of  foetal  growth  and  development  in  the 
uterus,  and  its  birth  into  the  world  in  a  helpless  and 
enfeebled  condition,  amazing  as  they  are  to  all  physio- 
logical students — sinks  into  comparative  insignificance 
when  compared  with  the  nearly  instantaneous  produc- 
tion of  a  fully  developed  human  body,  with  all  its  or- 
gans functioning  properly;  a  body  inhabited  tempo- 
rarily by  a  thinking,  reasoning  entity,  who  can  see, 
hear,  taste,  smell  and  touch :  a  body  which  can  be  han- 
dled, weighed,  measured,  and  photographed. 

When  these  claims  were  first  brought  to  my  notice  I 
realized  at  once  that  I  was  face  to  face  with  a  problem 
which  would  require  the  very  closest  investigation ;  and 
I  then  and  there  decided  to  give  up  work  of  all  kinds 
and  to  devote  years,  if  necessary,  to  a  critical  examina- 
tion of  these  claims,  to  investigate  the  matter  calmly 
and  dispassionately,  and,  in  Sir  John  Herschel's  memo- 


164       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

rable  words,  ''to  stand  or  fall  by  the  result  of  a  direct 
appeal  to  facts  in  the  first  instance,  and  of  strict  logical 
deduction  from  them  afterwards." 

And,  as  I  have  said,  the  result  has  been  that  the  ap- 
parently impossible  has  been  proved  to  be  possible — 
the  facts  have  beaten  me,  and  I  accept  them  whole- 
heartedly, admitting  that  our  working  hypothesis  has 
been  proved  beyond  any  possibility  of  doubt,  and  that 
these  materialized  entities  can  manifest  themselves  to- 
day to  any  person  who  will  provide  the  conditions  neces- 
sary for  such  a  demonstration. 

Who  they  are,  what  they  are,  whence  they  come,  and 
whither  they  go,  each  investigator  must  determine  for 
himself,  but  of  their  actual  existence  in  a  sphere  just 
outside  our  own  there  can  no  longer  be  any  room  for 
doubt.  As  a  busy  man,  theories  have  little  or  no  at- 
traction for  me.  What  I  demand,  and  what  other  busy 
men  and  women  demand  in  an  investigation  of  this 
kind  is  that  there  should  be  a  reasonable  possibility  of 
getting  hold  of  facts,  good  solid  facts  which  can  be 
demonstrated  as  such  to  any  open-mincTecT  inquirer, 
otherwise  it  would  be  useless  to  commence  such  an  in- 
vestigation. And  we  have  now  got  these  facts,  and  can 
prove  them  on  purely  scientific  lines. 

The  meaning  of  the  word  materialization,  so  far  at 
least  as  it  concerns  our  investigation,  I  understand  to 
be  this:  the  taking  on  by  an  entity  from  a  sphere  out- 
side our  own,  an  entity  representing  a  man,  woman,  or 
child  (or  even  a  beast  or  bird),  of  a  temporary  body 
built  up  from  material  drawn  partially  from  the  inhabi- 
tants of  earth,  consolidated  through  the  agency  of  cer- 
tain persons  of  both  sexes,  termed  sensitives,  and 


GHOSTS  IN  SOLID  FORM  165 

moulded  by  the  entity  into  a  semblance  of  the  body 
which  (it  alleges)  it  inhabited  during  its  existence  on 
earth.  In  other  words,  a  materialization  is  the  appear-, 
ance  of  an  entity  in  bodily,  tangible  form,  i.e.,  one  which 
we  can  touch,  thus  differing  from  an  astralization,  ethe- 
realization,  or  apparition,  which  is,  of  course,  one  which 
cannot  be  touched,  although  it  may  be  clearly  visible  to 
any  one  possessing  only  normal  sight. 

Let  me,  then,  endeavor  to  describe  to  the  best  of  my 
ability,  and  in  very  simple  language,  how  I  believe  these 
materializations  to  be  produced,  and  the  conditions 
which  I  have  proved  to  be  necessary  in  order  that  the 
finest  results  may  be  obtained. 

I  will  deal  first  with  the  question  of  the  conditions, 
as  without  conditions  of  some  kind  no  materialization 
can  be  produced,  any  more  than  a  scientific  experiment 
— such  as  mixing  various  chemicals  together,  in  order  to 
produce  a  certain  result — can  be  carried  out  success- 
fully without  proper  conditions  being  provided  by  the 
experimenter.  What,  then,  do  we  mean  by  this  word 
''conditions"? 

Take  a  homely  example.  The  baker  mixes  exactly 
the  right  quantities  of  flour,  salt,  and  yeast  with  water, 
and  then  places  the  dough  which  he  has  made  in  an 
oven  heated  to  just  the  right  temperature,  and  pro- 
duces a  loaf  of  bread.  Why?  Because  the  conditions 
were  good  ones.  Had  he  omitted  the  flour,  the  yeast, 
or  the  water,  or  had  he  used  an  oven  over  or  under- 
heated,  he  could  not  have  produced  an  eatable  loaf  of 
bread,  because  the  conditions  made  it  impossible. 

This  is  what  is  meant  by  the  terms  "good  conditions/' 
"bad  conditions,"  "breaking  conditions." 


166      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

The  conditions,  then,  under  which  I  have  been  able 
to  prove  to  many  hundreds  of  inquirers  that  it  is  pos- 
sible for  materialized  entities  to  appear  on  earth,  in 
solid  tangible  form,  are  these : 

First,  light,  of  suitable  wave-length,  i.e.  suitable  color, 
and  let  me  say  here,  once  and  for  all,  that  I  have  proved 
conclusively  for  myself  that  darkness  is  not  necessary, 
provided  that  one  is  experimenting  with  a  sensitive  who 
has  been  trained  to  sit  always  in  the  light. 

On  two  occasions  I  have  witnessed  materializations 
in  daylight ;  and  neither  of  Sir  William  Crookes  's  sensi- 
tives— D.  D.  Home  or  Florrie  Cook  (Mrs.  Corner) — 
would  ever  sit  in  darkness,  the  latter — with  whom  I 
carried  out  a  long  series  of  experiments — invariably 
stipulating  that  a  good  light  should  be  used  during  the 
whole  time  that  the  experiment  lasted,  as  she  was  terri- 
fied at  the  mere  thought  of  darkness. 

I  find  that  sunlight,  electric  light,  gas,  colza  oil,  and 
paraffine  are  all  apt  to  check  the  production  of  the 
phenomena  unless  filtered  through  canary-yellow, 
orange,  red  linen  or  paper — just  as  they  are  filtered 
for  photographic  purposes — owing  to  the  violent  action 
of  the  actinic  (blue)  rays  which  they  contain  (the  rays 
from  the  violet  end  of  the  spectrum),  which  are  said 
to  work  at  about  six  hundred  billions  of  vibrations  per 
second.  But  if  the  light  is  filtered  in  the  way  that  I 
have  described,  the  production  of  the  phenomena  will 
commence  at  once,  the  vibrations  of  the  interfering  rays 
being  reduced,  it  is  said,  to  about  four  hundred  billions 
per  second  or  less. 

In  dealing  with  materializations  we  are  apt  to  over- 
look the  fact  that  we  are  investigating  forces  or  modes 


GHOSTS  IN  SOLID  FORM  167 

of  energy  far  more  delicate  than  electricity,  for  in- 
stance. Heat,  electricity,  and  light,  as  Sir  William 
Crookes  tells  us,  are  all  closely  related;  we  know  the 
awful  power  of  heat  and  electricity,  but  are  only  too 
apt  to  forget — especially  if  it  suits  our  purpose  to  do 
so — that  light  too  has  enormous  dynamic  potency;  its 
vibrations  being  said  to  travel  in  space  at  the  incredible 
speed  of  twelve  million  miles  a  minute;*  and  it  is 
therefore  only  reasonable  to  assume  that  the  power  of 
these  vibrations  may  be  sufficient  to  interfere  seriously 
with  the  more  subtle  forces,  such  as  those  which  we  are 
now  investigating. 

Secondly,  we  require  suitable  heat  vibrations,  and  I 
find  that  those  given  off  in  a  room  either  warmed  or 
chilled  to  sixty-three  degrees  are  the  very  best  possi- 
ble ;  anything  either  much  above  this,  or  more  especially, 
much  below  this,  tending  to  weaken  the  results  and  to 
check  the  phenomena. 

Thirdly,  we  require  suitable  musical  vibrations,  and, 
after  carrying  out  a  long  series  of  experiments  with 
musical  instruments  of  all  kinds,  I  find  that  the  vibra- 
tions given  off  by  the  reed  organ — termed  ' '  harmonium ' ' 
or  " American  organ" — or  by  the  concertina,  are  the 
most  suitable,  the  peculiar  quality  of  the  vibrations 
given  off  by  the  reeds  in  these  instruments  proving  to 
be  the  most  suitable  ones  for  use  during  the  production 
of  the  phenomena;  although  on  one  or  two  occasions  I 
have  obtained  good  results  without  musical  vibrations 
of  any  kind,  but  this  is  rare. 

Fourthly,  we  require  the  presence  of  a  specially  or- 
ganized man  or  woman,  termed  the  sensitive,  one  from 

*  186,900  milea  a  second   (J.  Wallace  Stewart,  B.Sc.). 


168      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

whom  it  is  alleged  a  portion  of  the  matter  used  by  the 
entity  in  the  building  up  of  its  temporary  body  can  be 
drawn,  with  but  little  chance  of  injury  to  their  health. 
This  point  is  one  of  vital  importance,  we  are  told,  for 
it  has  been  proved  by  means  of  a  self -registering  weigh- 
ing-machine on  which  he  was  seated,  and  to  which  he 
was  securely  fastened  with  an  electrical  apparatus  se- 
cretly hidden  beneath  the  seat,  which  would  at  once 
ring  a  bell  in  an  anteroom  if  he  endeavored  to  rise  from 
his  seat  during  the  experiment,  that  the  actual  loss  in 
weight  to  the  sensitive,  when  a  fully  materialized  entity 
was  standing  in  our  midst,  was  no  less  than  sixty-five 
pounds ! 

Before  employing  any  person,  then,  as  a  sensitive  for 
these  delicate,  not  to  say  dangerous,  experiments,  he  or 
she  should  be  medically  examined,  in  the  interests  of 
both  the  investigator  and  the  sensitive,  and  should  their 
health  prove  to  be  in  any  way  below  par,  they  should 
not  be  permitted  to  take  part  in  the  experiment  until 
their  health  is  fully  restored. 

I  have  been  permitted  to  examine  the  sensitive  at  the 
moment  when  an  entity,  clad  in  a  fully-formed  tem- 
porary body,  was  walking  amongst  the  experimenters; 
and  the  distorted  features,  the  shrivelled-up  limbs  and 
contorted  trunk  of  the  sensitive  at  that  moment  pro- 
claimed the  danger  connected  with  the  production  of 
this  special  form  of  phenomena  far  louder  than  any 
words  of  mine  could  do. 

Needless  to  say,  sensitives  for  materializations  are  ex- 
tremely rare,  not  more  than  two  or  three  being  found 
to-day  amidst  the  teeming  millions  who  inhabit  the  Brit- 
ish Islands ;  although  a  few  are  to  be  found  on  the  En- 


GHOSTS  IN  SOLID  FOEM  169 

ropean  continent,  and  several  in  North  America,  where 
the  climatic  conditions  are  said  to  be  more  favorable 
for  the  development  of  such  persons. 

Now,  what  constitutes  a  sensitive,  and  why  are  they 
necessary  ? 

Sensitives  through  whom  physical  phenomena  (in- 
cluding materializations)  can  be  produced  have  been  de- 
scribed, firstly,  as  persons  in  whom  certain  forces  are 
gtored  up,  either  far  in  excess  of  the  amount  possessed 
by  the  normal  man  or  woman,  or  else  differing  in  quality 
from  the  forces  stored  up  by  the  normal  man  or  woman ; 
and  secondly,  as  persons  who  are  able  to  attract  from 
those  in  close  proximity  to  them — provided  that  the 
conditions  are  favorable — still  more  of  the  force,  which 
thus  becomes  centered  in  them  for  the  time  being.  In 
other  words,  a  sensitive  for  physical  phenomena  is  said 
to  be  a  storage  battery  for  the  force  which  is  used  in 
the  production  of  physical  phenomena — including  ma- 
terializations— although  it  is  by  no  means  improbable 
that  such  highly  developed  sensitives  as  those  required 
for  this  special  purpose  may  be  found  to  possess  extra 
nerve-centers  as  compared  with  those  possessed  by  nor- 
mal human  beings.  But  whether  this  hypothesis  be 
eventually  proved  or  not,  there  seems  to  be  but  very 
little  doubt  that  "whatever  the  force  may  be  which  con- 
stitutes the  difference  between  a  sensitive  and  a  non- 
sensitive,  it  is  certainly  of  a  mental  or  magnetic  charac- 
ter, i.e.,  a  combination  of  the  subtle  elements  of  mind 
and  magnetism,  and  therefore  of  a  psychological,  and 
not  of  a  purely  physical  character." 

But  why  is  a  sensitive  necessary?  you  ask.  Think  of 
a  telephone  for  a  moment.  You  wish  to  communicate 


170       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

with  a  person  who  is  holding  only  the  end  of  the  wire  in 
his  hand,  the  result  being  that  he  cannot  hear  a  single 
word.  Why  is  this?  Because  he  has  forgotten  to  fit  a 
receiver  at  his  end  of  the  wire,  a  receiver  in  which  the 
vibrations  set  up  by  your  voice  may  be  centralized, 
focussed,  a  receiver  which  he  can  place  to  his  ear,  and 
in  doing  so  will  at  once  hear  your  voice  distinctly — 
but  without  this  your  message  to  him  is  lost. 

And  it  is  said  that  this  is  exactly  the  use  of  the  sensi- 
tives during  our  experiments,  for  they  act  as  "receivers" 
in  which  the  forces  employed  in  the  production  of  the 
phenomena  may  be  centralized,  focussed,  their  varying 
degrees  of  sensitiveness  enabling  them  to  be  used  by  the 
entities  in  other  spheres  for  the  successful  production  of 
such  phenomena,  we  are  told. 

And  lastly,  we  require  about  twelve  to  sixteen  earnest 
and  really  sympathetic  men  and  women — persons 
trained  on  scientific  lines  for  choice — all  in  the  best  of 
health;  men  and  women  who,  whilst  strictly  on  their 
guard  against  anything  in  the  shape  of  fraud,  are  still 
so  much  in  sympathy  with  the  person  who  is  acting  as 
the  sensitive  that  they  are  all  the  time  sending  out  kindly 
thoughts  towards  him ;  for  if,  as  has  been  said, ' '  thoughts 
are  things,"  it  is  possible  that  hostile  thoughts  would 
be  sufficient  not  only  to  enfeeble,  but  actually  to  check 
demonstrations  of  physical  phenomena  of  all  kinds  in 
the  presence  of  such  specially  organized,  highly  devel- 
oped individuals  as  the  sensitives  through  whom  mate- 
rializations can  be  produced. 

I  shall  refer  to  these  men  and  women  as  the  sitters. 
We  generally  select  an  equal  number  so  far  as  sex  is 
concerned;  and,  in  addition,  we  endeavor  to  obtain  an 


GHOSTS  IN  SOLID  FORM  171 

equal  number  of  persons  possessing  either  positive  or 
negative  temperaments.  In  this  way  we  form  the  sit- 
ters into  a  powerful  human  battery,  the  combined  force 
given  off  by  them  (if  the  battery  is  properly  arranged, 
and  the  individual  members  of  that  battery  are  in  good 
health)  proving  of  enormous  assistance  during  our  ex- 
periments. If  in  ill-health,  we  find  that  a  man  or 
woman  is  useless  to  us,  for  we  can  no  more  expect  to 
obtain  the  necessary  power  from  such  an  individual 
than  we  can  expect  to  produce  an  electric  spark  from 
a  discharged  accumulator,  or  pick  up  needles  with  a 
demagnetized  piece  of  steel. 

We  are  told  to  remember  always  that  "all  manifes- 
tations of  natural  laws  are  the  results  of  natural  condi- 
tions/' 

Minor  details  too,  we  find,  must  be  thought  out  most 
carefully  if  we  are  to  provide  what  we  may  term  ideal 
conditions. 

The  chairs  should  be  made  of  wood  throughout,  those 
known  as  Austrian  bentwood  chairs,  having  perforated 
seats,  being  proved  to  be  the  best  for  the  purpose. 

The  sitters  should  bathe  and  then  change  their  cloth- 
ing— the  ladies  into  white  dresses,  and  the  men  into  dark 
suits — two  hours  before  the  time  fixed  for  the  experi- 
ment, and  should  then  at  once  partake  of  a  light  meal — 
meat  and  alcohol  being _strictly  forbidden — so  that  the 
strain  upon  their  constitutions  during  the  experiment 
may  not  interfere  with  their  health. 

Trivial  as  such  matters  must  appear  to  the  man  in  the 
street,  we  are  told  they  must  all  be  carried  out  most 
carefully,  in  order  that  the  finest  conditions  possible 


172      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

may  be  obtained,  the  one  great  object  of  the  sitters  be- 
ing to  give  off  all  the  power — and  the  best  kind  of  power 
— that  they  are  capable  of  producing,  in  order  that  suffi- 
cient suitable  material  may  be  gathered  together  from 
the  sensitive  and  themselves,  with  which  a  temporary 
body  may  be  formed  for  the  use  of  any  entity  wishing  to 
materialize  in  their  presence. 


PRECAUTIONS  AGAINST  FRAUD 

We  are  now  ready  to  see  what  happens  at  a  typical 
experimental  meeting  for  these  materializations,  at  hun- 
dreds of  which  I  have  assisted,  having  the  services 
of  no  less  than  six  sensitives  placed  at  my  disposal  for 
this  purpose.  I  will  endeavor  to  describe  what  I  should 
consider  to  be  an  ideal  one,  held  under  ideal  (test)  con- 
ditions. 

Our  imaginary  test  meeting  is  to  be  carried  out — as 
it  was  on  one  occasion  in  London — in  an  entirely  empty 
house,  which  none  of  us  has  ever  entered  before,  a  house 
which  we  will  hire  for  this  special  event.  By  doing 
this  we  may  feel  sure  that  all  possibility  of  fraud,  so 
far  as  the  use  of  secret  trap-doors,  large  mirrors,  and 
other  undesirable  things  of  that  description  are  con- 
cerned, can  be  successfully  thwarted. 

We  are  now  ready  to  start  our  experiment;  the  gen- 
eral feeling  of  all  those  in  the  room  being  that  every 
possible  precaution  against  trickery  has  been  taken,  and 
that  if  any  results  of  any  kind  whatever  should  follow 
they  will  undoubtedly  be  genuine. 


GHOSTS  IN  SOLID  FOEM  173 

The  sitters  having  been  allotted  their  seats,  so  that 
a  person  of  a  positive  and  a  person  of  a  negative  temper- 
ament are  seated  together,  we  now  join  hands,  and  form 
ourselves  into  what  we  are  told  is  a  powerful  human 
battery;  the  two  persons  sitting  at  the  two  ends  of  the 
half-circle  having  of  course  each  one  hand  free,  and 
from  the  free  hands  of  these  two  persons,  it  is  said,  the 
power  developed  and  given  off  by  this  human  battery 
passes  into  the  sensitive  at  each  of  his  sides. 

Sitting  quietly  in  our  chairs  and  talking  gently 
amongst  ourselves,  we  soon  feel  a  cool  breeze  blowing 
across  our  hands.  In  another  two  minutes  this  will 
have  so  increased  in  volume  that  it  may  with  truth  be 
described  as  a  strong  wind. 

On  looking  at  the  sensitive  now,  we  see  that  he  is 
rapidly  passing  into  a  state  of  trance — his  head  is 
drooping  on  one  side,  his  arms  and  hands  hang  down- 
wards loosely,  his  body  being  in  a  limp  real  trance  con- 
dition, and  just  in  the  right  state  for  use  by  any  entity 
desiring  to  work  through  him,  we  are  told. 

I  have  only  experimented  with  one  sensitive  who  did 
not  pass  into  trance,  who,  seated  amongst  the  sitters, 
remained  in  a  perfectly  normal  condition  during  the 
whole  of  the  experiment;  watching  the  materialized 
forms  building  up  beside  him,  and  talking  to  and  with 
them  during  the  process.  I  shall  refer  to  him  shortly. 

We  now  set  our  clairvoyants  to  work,  and  the  state- 
ments made  by  one  must  be  confirmed  in  every  detail 
by  the  statements  of  the  other  as  to  what  is  occurring 
at  the  moment,  or  no  notice  is  taken  of  their  remarks. 

Both  now  report  that  they  see  a  thin  white  mist  or 


174      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

vapor*  coming  from  the  left  side  of  the  sensitive,  if  a 
man  (or  from  the  pelvis,  if  a  woman),  which  passes 
into  the  sitter  at  the  end  of  the  half -circle  nearest  to 
the  sensitive 's  left  side.  It  then  passes,  they  state,  from 
Sitter  No.  1  to  Sitter  No.  2,  and  so  on,  until  it  has  gone 
through  the  whole  of  the  sixteen  sitters,  passing  finally 
from  the  last  one — No.  16 — at  the  end  of  the  half -circle 
nearest  to  the  sensitive's  right  side,  and  disappears  into 
his  right  side. 

We  assume  from  this  that  the  nerve  force,  magnetic 
power — call  it  what  you  will — necessary  for  the  forma- 
tion of  one  of  these  temporary  bodies  starts  from  the 
sensitive,  passes  through  each  sitter,  drawing  from  each 
as  much  more  force  or  power  as  he  or  she  is  capable  of 
giving  off  at  the  moment,  returning  to  the  sensitive 
greatly  increased  in  its  amount  and  ready  for  use  in  the 
next  process.  This,  then,  we  will  term  the  first  of  the 
three  stages  in  the  evolution  of  an  entity  clad  in  a  tem- 
porary body. 

THE  VAPOR  STAGE 

In  a  few  moments  our  clairvoyants  both  report  that 
the  force  or  power  is  issuing  from  the  side  of  the  sensi- 
tive, if  a  man  (or  from  the  pelvis,  if  a  woman),  in  the 
form  of  a  white,  soft,  dough-like  substance,  which  on 
one  occasion  I  was  permitted  to  touch.  I  could  per- 
ceive no  smell  given  off  by  it;  it  felt  cold  and  clammy, 
and  appeared  to  have  the  consistency  of  heavy  dou£h 
at  the  moment  that  I  touched  it. 

This  mass  of  dough-like  substance  is  said  to  b'o  the 
material  used  by  the  entities — one  by  one  as  a  rule — 

*  Termed  teleplasma. 


GHOSTS  IN  SOLID  FORM  175 

who  wish  to  build  up  a  temporary  body.  It  seems  to 
rest  on  the  floor,  somewhere  near  the  right  side  of  the 
sensitive,  until  required  for  use :  its  bulk  depending  ap- 
parently upon  the  amount  of  power  given  off  by  the 
sitters  from  time  to  time  during  the  experiment. 

This  we  will  term  the  second  of  the  three  stages  of 
the  evolution  of  an  entity  clad  in  a  temporary  body. 

THE  SOLID,  BUT  SHAPELESS  STA«E 

"We  are  told  that  the  entity  wishing  to  show  himself 
to  us  passes  into  this  shapeless  mass  of  dough-like  sub- 
stance, which  at  once  increases  in  bulk,  and  commences 
to  pulsate  and  move  up  and  down,  swaying  from  side  to 
side  as  it  grows  in  height,  the  motive  power  being  evi- 
dently underneath. 

The  entity  then  quickly  sets  to  work  to  mould  the 
mass  into  something  resembling  a  human  body,  com- 
mencing with  the  head.  The  rest  of  the  upper  portion 
of  the  body  soon  follows,  and  the  heart  and  pulse  can 
now  be  felt  to  be  beating  quite  regularly  and  normally, 
differing  in  this  respect  from  those  of  the  sensitive,  who,' 
if  tested  at  this  time,  will  be  found  with  both  heart  and 
pulse-beats  considerably  above  the  normal.  The  legs 
and  feet  come  last,  and  then  the  entity  is  able  to  leave 
the  near  neighborhood  of  the  sensitive  and  to  walk 
amongst  the  sitters,  the  third  and  last  stage  of  its  evo- 
lution being  now  complete. 

Although  occasionally  the  entity  will  appear  clad  in 
an  exact  copy  of  the  clothing  which  he  states  that  he 
wore  when  on  earth — especially  if  it  should  happen  to 
be  something  a  little  out  of  the  common,  such  as  a  mill- 


176      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

tary  or  naval  uniform — they  are  draped  as  a  rule  in 
flowing  white  garments  of  a  wonderfully  soft  texture, 
and  this,  too,  I  have  been  permitted  to  handle. 

Our  clairvoyants  both  affirm  that  at  all  times  during 
the  materialization  a  thin  band  of,  presumably,  the 
dough-like  substance  can  be  plainly  seen  issuing  from 
the  side  of  the  sensitive,  if  a  man,  (or  from  the  pelvis, 
if  a  woman),  and  joined  onto  the  center  of  the  body  in- 
habited by  the  entity — just  like  the  umbilical  cord  at- 
tached to  a  human  infant  at  birth — and  we  are  in- 
structed that  this  band  cannot  be  stretched  beyond  a 
certain  radius,  say  ten  to  fifteen  feet,  without  doing 
harm  to  the  sensitive  and  to  the  entity;  although  cases 
are  on  record  where  materializations  have  been  seen  at 
a  distance  of  nearly  sixty  feet  from  the  sensitive,  on 
occasions  when  the  conditions  were  unusually  favorable. 

On  handling  different  portions  of  the  materialized 
body  now,  the  flesh  is  found  to  be  both  warm  and  firm. 
The  bodies  are  well  proportioned,  those  of  the  females — 
for  they  take  on  sex  conditions  during  the  process — 
having  beautiful  figures ;  the  hands,  arms,  legs,  and  feet 
are  quite  perfect  in  their  modelling,  but  in  my  opinion 
the  body,  head,  and  limbs  of  every  materialization  of 
either  sex  or  any  age  which  I  have  scrutinized  at  close 
quarters  carefully,  or  have  been  permitted  to  handle, 
have  appeared  to  be  at  least  one-third  smaller  in  size 
(except  as  regards  actual  height)  than  those  possessed 
by  beings  on  earth  of  the  same  sex  and  age. 

Not  only  have  we  witnessed  materializations  of  aged 
entities  of  both  sexes,  showing  all  the  characteristics  of 
old  age — xbr  the  purpose  of  identification  by  the  sitters, 
as  they  tell  us — but  we  have  seen  materialized  infants 


GHOSTS  IN  SOLID  FORM  177 

also;  and  on  one  occasion  two  still-born  children  ap- 
peared in  our  midst  simultaneously,  one  of  them  show- 
ing distinct  traces  on  its  little  face  of  a  hideous  de- 
formity which  it  possessed  at  the  time  of  its  premature 
birth — a  deformity  known  only  to  the  mother,  who  hap- 
pened to  be  present  that  evening  as  one  of  the  sitters. 

We  are  told  that,  for  the  purpose  of  identification, 
the  entity  will  return  to  earth  in  an  exact  counterpart 
of  the  body  which  he  alleges  that  he  occupied  at  the  time 
of  his  death,  in  order  that  he  may  be  recognized  by 
his  relatives  and  friends  who  happen  to  be  present. 
Thus,  the  one  who  left  the  earth  as  an  infant  will  appear 
in  his  materialized  body  as  an  infant,  although  he 
may  have  been  dead  for  twenty  or  thirty  years.  The 
aged  man  or  woman  will  appear  with  bent  body, 
wrinkled  face,  and  snow-white  hair,  walking  amongst  us 
with  difficulty,  and  just  as  they  allege  they  did  before 
their  death,  although  that  may  have  occurred  twenty 
years  before.  The  one  who  had  lost  a  limb  during  his 
earth-life  will  return  minus  that  limb ;  the  one  who  was 
disfigured  by  accident  or  disease  will  return  bearing 
distinct  traces  of  that  disfigurement,  for  the  purpose  of 
identification  only. 

But  as  soon  as  the  identification  has  been  established 
successfully,  all  this  changes  instantly;  the  disfigure- 
ment disappears;  the  four  limbs  will  be  seen,  and  both 
the  infant  and  the  aged  will  from  henceforth  show  them- 
selves to  us  in  the  very  prime  of  life — the  young  grow- 
ing upwards  and  the  aged  downwards,  as  we  say,  and, 
as  they  one  and  all  state  emphatically,  just  as  they 
really  look  and  feel  in  the  sphere  in  which  they  now 
exist. 


178      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

While  inhabiting  these  temporary  bodies,  they  state 
that  they  take  on,  not  only  sex  conditions,  but  earth 
conditions  temporarily  too ;  for  they  appear  to  feel  pain 
if  their  bodies  are  injured  in  any  way;  complain  of 
the  cold  if  the  temperature  of  the  room  is  allowed  to 
fall  much  below  sixty  degrees,  or  of  the  heat  if  the  tem- 
perature is  allowed  to  rise  above  seventy  degrees;  seem 
to  be  depressed  during  a  thunderstorm,  when  our  at- 
mosphere is  overcharged  with  electricity;  and  appear 
bright  and  happy  in  a  warm  room  when  the  world  out- 
side is  in  the  grip  of  a  hard  frost,  and  also  on  bright, 
starry  nights. 

And  not  only  this,  but  they  take  on  strongly  marked 
characteristics  of  the  numerous  races  on  earth  tempo- 
rarily too;  the  materialized  entities  of  the  white  races 
differing  quite  as  markedly  from  those  of  the  yellow 
or  brown  races,  as  do  these  from  the  black  races ;  and  in 
speaking  to  us  each  one  will  communicate  in  the  par- 
ticular language  only  which  is  characteristic  of  his  race 
on  earth. 

Five,  six  and  even  seven  totally  different  languages 
have  been  employed  during  a  single  experimental  meet- 
ing through  a  sensitive  who  had  never  in  his  life  been 
out  of  England,  and  who  was  proved  conclusively  to 
know  no  other  language  than  English;  the  latter  num- 
ber, we  were  told,  being  in  honor  of  a  ship 's  doctor  who 
was  present  on  one  occasion,  and  who — although  the  fact 
was  quite  unknown  to  any  of  us  at  the  time — proved  to 
be  an  expert  linguist,  for  he  conversed  that  evening 
with  different  entities  in  English,  French,  German,  Rus- 
sian, Chinese,  Japanese,  and  in  the  language  of  one  of 
the  hill-tribes  of  India. 


GHOSTS  IN  SOLID  FORM  179 

On  another  occasion,  when  I  was  the  only  European 
present  at  an  afternoon  experimental  meetir-  LeM  in 
London  by  eight  Parsees  of  both  sexes  from  Bombay, 
during  the  whole  of  the  time  which  the  meeting  lasted 
• — two  and  a  quarter  hours — the  entities  and  tl.3  Parsec 
sitters  carried  on  their  conversation  in  Hindustani ;  i  rro 
entities  and  one  of  the  Parsee  men  simultaneously  en- 
gaging in  a  heated  controversy,  which  lasted  for  nearly 
three  minutes,  over  the  disposal  of  the  bodies  of  their 
dead,  the  entities  insisting  on  cremation  only,  as  op- 
posed to  allowing  the  bodies  to  be  eaten  by  vultures — 
the  noise  which  they  made  during  this  discussion  being 
almost  deafening.  The  sensitive,  it  was  proved  con- 
clusively, knew  no  other  language  than  English,  and  had 
only  once  been  out  of  the  British  Islands,  when  ho  paid 
a  short  visit  to  France. 


CHAPTER  II 

"Sit  down  before  a  fact  as  a  little  child:  be  prepared  to  give 
up  every  proconceived  notion:  follow  humbly  wherever  and  to 
whatever  abysses  Nature  leads,  or  you  shall  learn  nothing." — 
THOMAS  HUXLEY. 

TESTS 

The  tests  given  to  me  and  to  my'  fellow-investigators 
through  the  six  sensitives  who  so  ably  assisted  us  during 
our  seven  years  of  experimental  work  in  this  little- 
known  field  of  research— the  tests  have  been  so  numer- 
ous, and  were  of  such  a  varied  character,  that  I  find  it 
somewhat  difficult  to  know  which  to  select  out  of  the 


180      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

hundreds  which  were  recorded  in  our  books  officially 
and  elsewhere,  the  ones  which  will  prove  of  the  greatest 
interest  to  inquirers;  but  I  have  made  extracts  from 
ten  of  these  records,  and  these,  with  a  few  taken  from 
Sir  William  Crookes's  reports  on  the  experiments  con- 
ducted in  his  presence,  will,  in  my  opinion,  be  sufficient 
to  prove  that  we  who  have  witnessed  these  marvels  are 
neither  hallucinated,  insane,  nor  liars  when  we  solemnly 
affirm  that  we  have  both  seen  and  handled  the  material- 
ized bodies  built  up  for  temporary  use  by  entities  from 
another  sphere ;  all  the  statements  made  here  being  true 
in  every  detail,  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge  and  belief. 

EXPERIMENT  No.  1 

Place — Lyndhurst,  New  Forest,  Hampshire. 
Sensitive  A,  male,  aged  about  46. 

As  an  example  of  a  simple  but  exceedingly  severe 
test,  I  would  first  record  one  given  to  me  and  a  fellow- 
investigator  on  the  outskirts  of  the  New  Forest,  one  for 
which  no  special  preparation  of  any  kind  whatever  had 
been  made. 

The  sensitive,  a  nearly  blind  man,  was  taken  by  us 
on  a  dark  night  to  a  spot  totally  unknown  to  him,  as  he 
had  only  just  arrived  from  London  by  train,  and  was 
led  into  a  large  travelling  caravan,  one  which  he  had 
never  been  near  before,  as  it  had  only  recently  left  the 
builder's  hands. 

During  the  day  I  had  made  a  critical  examination  of 
the  interior  of  the  caravan,  and  had  satisfied  myself  that 
no  one  was  or  could  possibly  be  concealed  in  it.  I  then 


GHOSTS  IN  SOLID  FORM  181 

locked  the  door,  and  kept  the  key  in  my  pocket  until  the 
moment  when,  on  the  arrival  of  the  sensitive,  I  unlocked 
the  door  and  we  all  passed  into  the  caravan  together. 
I  then  locked  and  bolted  the  door  behind  us. 

As  I  have  already  said,  no  preparation  of  any  kind 
had  been  made  for  the  experiment.  It  was  merely  the 
result  of  a  desire  to  see  if  anything  could  be  produced 
through  this  sensitive,  under  extremely  difficult  condi- 
tions— conditions  which  we  considered  as  so  utterly  bad 
as  to  make  failure  a  certainty. 

We  did  not  even  possess  a  chair  of  any  kind  for  the 
sensitive  or  ourselves  to  sit  upon,  so  we  placed  for  his 
use  a  board  on  top  of  the  iron  cooking-range  which  was 
fixed  in  the  kitchen-portion  of  the  caravan,  whilst  we 
sat  upon  the  two  couches  which  were  used  as  beds  in 
the  living-portion  of  the  caravan.  There  was  no  music, 
no  powerful  ' '  human  battery ' '  in  the  shape  of  a  number 
of  picked  sitters ;  in  fact,  the  conditions  were  just  about 
as  bad  as  they  could  possibly  be,  and  yet,  within  ten 
minutes  of  my  locking  the  door  behind  us,  the  figure 
of  a  tall  man  stood  before  us,  a  man  so  tall  that  he  was 
compelled  to  bow  his  head  as  he  passed  under  the  six- 
foot  high  partition  which  separated  the  two  sections 
of  the  caravan. 

He  said,  "I  am;  Colonel  —  who  was  *  killed/  as  you 
say,  at  the  battle  of  —  in  Egypt.  For  many  years 
during  my  earth-life  I  was  deeply  interested  in  mate- 
rializations, and  spent  the  last  night  of  my  life  in  Eng- 
land experimenting  with  this  very  sensitive ;  and  it  is  a 
great  pleasure  to  me  to  be  able  to  return  to  you — 
strangers  though  you  both  are  to  me — through  him.  To 
prove  to  you  that  I  am  not  the  sensitive  masquerading 


182       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

before  you,  will  you  please  come  here  and  stand  close  to 
me,  and  so  settle  the  matter  for  yourself?" 

I  at  once  rose  and  stood  beside  him,  almost  touching 
him.  I  then  discovered  that  not  only  were  his  features 
and  his  coloring  totally  different  from  those  of  the  sensi- 
tive, but  that  he  towered  above  me,  standing,  as  nearly 
as  I  could  judge,  six  foot  two  or  three  inches,  and  was 
certainly  four  inches  taller  than  either  the  sensitive  or 
myself. 

Whilst  thus  standing  beside  him,  and  at  a  distance  of 
about  eight  feet  from  the  sensitive,  we  could  both  hear 
the  unfortunate  man  moving  uneasily  on  his  hard  seat 
on  the  kitchen-range,  sighing  and  moaning  as  if  in  pain. 

The  entity  remained  with  us  for  about  three  minutes, 
and  his  place  was  then  taken  by  a  slightly  built  young 
man,  standing  about  five  feet  nine  inches,  one  claiming 
to  be  a  recently  deceased  member  of  the  royal  family. 
He  talked  with  us  in  a  soft  and  pleasing  voice,  finally 
whispering  a  private  message  to  my  companion,  asking 
him  to  deliver  it  to  his  mother,  Queen  — . 


EXPERIMENT  No.  2 

Place — Peckham  Rye,  London,  S.  E.    Sensitive  A, 
male,  aged  about  46. 

An  almost  equally  hopeless  task  was  set  this  sensitive 
by  the  owner  of  the  caravan  and  myself  when  we  ex- 
perimented with  him  at  midday  on  a  brilliant  morning 
in  July,  with  sunlight  streaming  into  the  room  round 
the  edges  of  the  drawn  down  window-blinds,  and  round 
the  top,  sides,  and  bottom  of  the  heavy  window-curtains, 


GHOSTS  IN  SOLID  FOEM  183 

which  we  had  pinned  together  in  a  vain  attempt  to  keep 
out  the  sunlight  during  the  experiment. 

And  yet  onee  again,  and  in  spite  of  the  conditions 
which  we  regarded  as  utterly  hopeless,  the  figure  of  a 
man  appeared  in  less  than  ten  minutes,  materialized  from 
head  to  foot,  as  he  proved  to  us  by  showing  us  his  lower 
limbs.  He  left  the  side  of  the  sensitive,  walked  out  into 
the  room  and  stood  between  us,  talking  to  us  in  a  deep 
rich  voice  for  nearly  three  minutes.  As  he  stood  beside 
us  we  could  hear  the  sensitive,  twelve  feet  away,  moving 
uneasily  on  his  chair  and  groaning  slightly. 

Five  minutes  after  he  disappeared  the  same  (alleged) 
recently  deceased  member  of  the  royal  family  walked 
out  to  us  and  held  a  short  private  conversation  with  my 
companion,  and  sent  another  message  to  his  mother, 
Queen  — . 

EXPERIMENT  No.  3 

Place — West  Hampstead,  London,  N.  W. 
Sensitive  B,  female,  aged  about  49. 

Persons  of  middle  age  or  older  who  happened  to  be  in 
England  a  few  years  ago  at  the  time  that  two  lawsuits 
were  brought  against  a  celebrated  conjurer  by  the  clever 
young  man  who  had  succeeded  in  exposing  one  of  his 
most  mystifying  tricks,  will  well  remember  the  sensa- 
tion caused  by  the  giving  of  both  verdicts  against  the 
conjurer ;  and  the  young  man — to  whom  I  shall  refer  as 
Mr.  X — at  once  became  famous  as  the  man  who  had 
beaten  one  of  the  cleverest  conjurers  of  the  day. 

A  friend  of  mine,  who  had  been  present  on  several 
occasions  when  Sir  William  Crookes's  sensitive — Florrie 


184      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

Cook  (Mrs.  Corner),  referred  to  above  as  Sensitive  B — 
had  produced  materializations  in  gaslight  at  my  house 
in  London,  asked  her  to  visit  his  house  at  West  Hamp- 
stead  one  evening  to  meet  several  friends  of  his,  and  to 
see  if  it  were  possible  for  any  entity  to  materialize  in 
my  friend's  own  drawing-room. 

She  at  once  accepted  his  invitation  to  sit  there  under 
strict  test  conditions;  and,  talking  the  matter  over  with 
some  of  his  friends  a  day  or  two  before  the  one  chosen 
for  the  experiment,  he  told  me  that  they  had  arranged 
to  have  the  sensitive  securely  tied  to  her  chair,  to  have 
strong  iron  rings  fastened  to  the  floor-boards,  through 
which  ropes  would  be  passed,  these  ropes  to  be  securely 
fastened  to  the  sensitive's  legs;  all  knots  of  every  size 
and  kind  to  be  sealed,  so  as  to  prevent  any  attempt  on 
her  part  to  leave  her  chair  and  to  masquerade  as  a 
materialized  entity. 

One  of  his  friends  happened  to  know  the  celebrated 
Mr.  X — ,  and,  as  he  had  so  recently  succeeded  in  beat- 
ing so  notable  a  conjurer,  he  was  invited  to  be  present 
and  to  take  entire  charge  of  the  tying  up,  the  binding 
and  sealing  arrangements,  in  order  to  render  the  escape 
of  the  sensitive  from  her  chair  an  impossibility. 

When  I  joined  the  party  in  the  drawing-room,  Mr, 
X — ,  to  whom  I  was  introduced,  was  busily  engaged 
in  tying  the  sensitive  up  with  his  own  ropes  and  tapes, 
sealing  every  knot  with  special  sealing-wax  and  with  a 
seal  provided  by  our  host.  The  room  was  a  large  one, 
and  a  portion  at  one  end  had  been  cleared  of  all  furni- 
ture, and  in  the  center  of  this  space  only  the  sensitive 
seated  upon  her  chair,  and  Mr.  X —  busily  at  work, 
were  to  be  seen;  and  the  latter,  after  another  fifteen 


GHOSTS  IN  SOLID  FORM  185 

minutes  of  real  hard  labor,  was  asked  by  our  host  if 
he  was  thoroughly  satisfied  that  the  sensitive  was  fas- 
tened to  her  chair  securely.  He  replied  that  so  securely 
was  she  fastened,  that  if  she  could  produce  phenomena 
of  any  kind  whatever  under  such  conditions,  he  would 
at  once  admit  their  genuineness. 

The  sensitive  was  all  this  time  in  a  perfectly  normal 
state,  and  not  flurried  in  any  way,  her  one  anxiety  being 
lest  we  should  lower  the  lights,  as  she  was  so  terrified 
at  the  thought  of  darkness. 

Mr.  X — ,  after  stepping  backwards  to  have  a  final 
look  at  the  result  of  his  labors,  then  walked  close  to  the 
spot  where  the  sensitive  was  sitting  in  gaslight,  and  put 
one  hand  up  towards  the  top  of  the  curtain,  and  was  in 
the  act  of  drawing  this  round  her  to  keep  the  direct 
rays  of  the  gaslight  from  falling  upon  her,  when  a  large 
brown  arm  and  hand  suddenly  appeared,  the  hand  be- 
ing clapped  heavily  upon  Mr.  X — 's  shoulder,  whilst 
a  gruff  masculine  voice  asked  him  in  loud  tones,  "Are 
you  really  satisfied  ?" 

I  have  witnessed  some  strange  happenings  in  connec- 
tion with  my  investigation  of  occult  matters,  but  to  my 
dying  day  I  shall  never  forget  the  look  of  blank  aston- 
ishment on  Mr.  X — 's  face  at  that  moment. 

Quickly  recovering  himself,  however,  he  at  once  ex- 
amined the  sensitive — a  little  woman,  far  below  the  aver- 
age height,  having  small  hands  and  feet,  as  we  could  all 
see  quite  clearly — and  declared  that  every  seal  and 
every  knot  was  unbroken,  and  just  as  he  had  left  them 
not  sixty  seconds  before. 

Amongst  other  entities  who  materialized  that  evening 
was  a  young  girl  of  about  eighteen  years  of  age  who 


186      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

stated  that  when  she  left  her  earth-body  she  had  been  a 
dancer  at  a  cafe  in  Algiers. 

She  came  from  the  spot  where  the  sensitive  was  seated, 
laughing  heartily,  stating  that  the  hand  and  arm  be- 
longed to  an  old  English  sailor,  whom  she  spoke  of  as 
"the  Captain. "  She  said,  further,  that  he  had  been 
standing  with  her  watching  the  tying-up  process  from 
their  sphere,  and  laughing  at  Mr.  X — 's  vain  attempt 
to  prevent  the  production  of  the  phenomena.  The  Cap- 
tain had  very  much  wished  to  materialize  fully,  so  as  to 
surprise  Mr.  X —  as  he  stepped  back  from  the  sensi- 
tive; but,  finding  that  he  could  only  get  sufficient 
" power"  to  produce  a  hand  and  arm,  he  was  in  a  bad 
temper.  And  this  was  evidently  the  case,  for  during 
the  ten  minutes  that  the  girl  remained  talking  to  us 
we  could  now  and  then  hear  the  gruff  voice  of  the  Cap- 
tain rolling  out  language  which  can  only  be  described 
as  "forcible  and  free." 

The  experiment  lasted  for  nearly  an  hour,  and  at  its 
conclusion  Mr.  X —  examined  the  sensitive,  and  once 
again  reported  that  every  seal  and  knot  were  just  as 
he  had  left  them  at  the  commencement  of  the  experi- 
ment. 

EXPERIMENT  No.  4 

Place — My  House  in  London.     Sensitive  D,  male, 
aged  about  34. 

On  numerous  occasions  this  sensitive  has  been  seen 
by  all  present,  in  gaslight  shaded  by  red  paper,  seated 
on  his  chair  in  a  state  of  deep  trance,  and  was  heard  to 
be  breathing  heavily,  whilst  two  materialized  entities 


GHOSTS  IN  SOLID  FOEM  187 

stood  beside  him ;  or  with  one  beside  him,  and  the  other 
standing  five  to  eight  feet  away  from  him  and  close  to 
the  sitters. 

Again,  two  female  entities  were  seen  simultaneously 
when  this  male  sensitive  was  experimenting  with  us, 
one  of  them  inside  the  half -circle  formed  by  the  sixteen 
sitters,  and  talking  to  them  in  a  low  sweet  voice,  at  a 
distance  of  about  eight  feet  from  the  sensitive;  whilst 
the  other  female  entity  passed  through  or  over  the  sit- 
ters, and,  walking  about  the  room  outside  the  half-circle 
formed  by  the  sitters,  came  up  behind  two  of  them,  and 
not  only  spoke  audibly  to  them,  but  also  held  a  short 
conversation  with  the  entity  inside  the  ring,  both  speak- 
ing almost  instantaneously. 


THE  PHANTOM  ARMIES  SEEN  IN  PRANCE  * 

BY  HEREWABD  CARRINGTON 

HISTORY  abounds  in  cases  showing  the  apparent 
intrusion  of  spiritual  help  in  time  of  trouble, 
and  in  the  annals  of  military  history  these  ac- 
counts are  not  lacking.  On  several  occasions  the  Cru- 
saders thought  that  they  saw  angelic  hosts  fighting  for 
them — phantom  horsemen  charging  the  enemy,  when 
their  own  utter  destruction  seemed  imminent.  In  the 
wars  between  the  English  and  the  Scotch,  several  such 
cases  were  cited,  and  the  Napoleonic  wars  also  furnished 
examples.  But  the  most  striking  evidence  of  this  char- 
acter— because  the  newest — and  supported,  apparently, 
by  a  good  deal  of  first-hand  and  sincere  testimony,  is 
that  afforded  by  the  Phantom  Armies  seen  in  France 
during  the  retreat  of  the  British  army  from  Mons — the 
field  of  Agincourt.  Cut  off  by  overwhelming  numbers, 
and  all  but  annihilated,  the  British  army  fought  desper- 
ately, but  the  80,000  were  opposed  by  300,000  Germans, 
backed  by  a  terrific  fire  of  artillery,  and  were  indeed  in 
a  critical  position.  They  were  only  saved,  as  we  know, 
by  the  heroism  of  a  small  force  of  men — a  rear-guard — 
who  were  practically  wiped  out  in  consequence.  At  the 
most  critical  moment  came  what  appeared  to  be  angelic 
assistance.  The  tide  of  battle  seemed  to  be  stemmed  by 

*By  permission  of  the  author. 

188 


PHANTOM  ARMIES  SEEN  IN  FRANCE  189 

supernatural  means.  In  a  letter  writter  by  a  soldier  who 
actually  witnessed  these  startling  events,  quoted  by  the 
Hon.  Mrs.  St.  John  Mildmay  (North  American  Review f 
August,  1915),  the  following  graphic  account  is  given. 
Our  soldier  writes : 

"The  men  joked  at  the  shells  and  found  many  funny 
names  for  them,  and  had  bets  about  them,  and  greeted 
them  with  music-hall  songs,  as  they  screamed  in  this  ter- 
rific cannonade.  The  climax  seemed  to  have  been 
reached,  but  'a  seven-times  heated  hell'  of  the  enemy's 
onslaught  fell  upon  them,  rending  brother  from  brother. 
At  that  very  moment,  they  saw  from  their  trenches  a 
tremendous  host  moving  against  their  lines.  Five  hun- 
dred of  the  thousand  (who  had  been  detailed  to  fight 
the  rear-guard  action)  remained,  and  as  far  as  they  could 
see  the  German  infantry  was  pressing  on  against  them, 
column  by  column,  a  gray  world  of  men — 10,000  of 
them,  as  it  appeared  afterwards.  There  was  no  hope 
at  all.  Some  of  them  shook  hands.  One  man  impro- 
vised a  new  version  of  the  battle  song  Tipperary,  end- 
ing 'and  we  shan't  get  there!'  And  all  went  on  firing 
steadily.  The  enemy  dropped  line  after  line,  while  the 
few  machine  guns  did  their  best.  Every  one  knew  it 
was  of  no  use.  The  dead  gray  bodies  lay  in  companies* 
and  battalions,  but  others  came  on  and  on,  swarming 
and  advancing  from  beyond  and  beyond. 

* '  '  World  without  end.  Amen ! '  said  one  of  the  British 
soldiers,  with  some  irreverence,  as  he  took  aim  and  fired. 
Then  he  remembered  a  vegetarian  restfcut  •<•••—<•  in  Lon- 
don, where  he  had  once  or  twice  eaten  queer  dishes  of 
cutlets  made  of  lentils  and  nuts  that  pretended  to  be 
steaks.  On  all  the  plates  in  this  restaurant  a  figure  of 


190       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

St.  George  we*  -  '  -i  in  blue  with  the  motto,  Adsit 
Anglis  Sanctus  tteorgius  (May  St.  George  be  a  present 
help  to  England).  The  soldier  happened  to  know 
1  Latin  and  other  useless  things,'  so  now,  as  he  fired  at 
the  gray  advancing  mass,  300  yards  away,  he  uttered 
the  pious  vegetarian  motto.  He  went  on  firing  to  the 
end,  till  at  last  Bill  on  his  right  had  to  clout  him  cheer- 
fully on  the  head  to  make  him  stop,  pointing  out  as  he 
did  so  that  the  King's  ammunition  cost  money  and  was 
not  lightly  to  be  wasted.  For,  as  the  Latin  scholar  ut- 
tered his  invocation,  he  felt  something  between  a  shud- 
der and  an  electric  shock  pass  through  his  body.  The 
roar  of  the  battle  died  down  in  his  ears  to  a  gentle  mur- 
mur, and  instead  of  it,  he  says,  he  heard  a  great  voice 
louder  than  a  thunder  peal,  crying  'Array!  Array!' 
His  heart  grew  hot  as  a  burning  coal,  then  it  grew  cold 
as  ice  within  him,  for  it  seemed  to  him  a  tumult  of  voices 
answered  to  the  summons.  He  heard  or  seemed  to  hear 
thousands  shouting: 

"'St.  George!    St.  George! 

11  'Ha!     Messire,  Ha!     Sweet  Saint,  grant  us 


good  deliverance ! 

11  'St.  George  for  Merrie  England! 

"  'Harow!  Harow!  Monseigneur  St.  George, 
succour  us,  Ha!  St.  George!  A  low  bow,  and 
a  strong  bow,  Knight  of  Heaven,  aid  us!' 


1 1 


;As  ibo  Duller  heard  these  voices,  he  saw  before  him, 
beyond  the  trench,  a  long  line  of  shapes  with  a  shining 
about  them.  They  were  like  men  who  drew  the  bow, 
and  with  another  shout  their  cloud  of  arrows  flew  sing- 


PHANTOM  AEMIES  SEEN  IN  FEANCE  191 

ing  through  the  air  toward  the  German  host.  The  other 
men  in  the  trenches  were  firing  all  the  while.  They 
had  no  hope,  but  they  aimed  just  as  if  they  had  been 
shooting  at  Bisley. 

"Suddenly  one  of  these  lifted  up  his  voice  in  plain 
English.  '  Gawd  help  us ! '  he  bellowed  to  the  man  next 
him,  'but  we're  bloomin'  marvels!  Look  at  those  gray 
gentlemen !  Look  at  them !  They  're  not  going  down  in 
dozens  or  hundreds — it's  thousands  it  is!  Look,  look! 
There 's  a  regiment  gone  while  I  'm  talking  to  ye ! ' 

11  'Shut  it,'  the  other  soldier  bellowed,  taking  aim. 
'What  are  ye  talkin'  about?'  But  he  gulped  with  as- 
tonishment even  as  he  spoke,  for  indeed  the  gray  men 
were  falling  by  the  thousands.  The  English  could  hear 
the  guttural  scream  of  their  revolvers  as  they  shot,  and 
line  after  line  crashed  to  the  earth.  All  the  while  the 
Latin-bred  soldier  heard  the  cry  '  Harow,  Harow !  Mon- 
seigneur!  Dear  Saint!  Quick  to  our  aid!  St.  George 
help  us ! ' 

"The  singing  arrows  darkened  the  air,  the  hordes 
melted  before  them.  'More  machine  guns,'  Bill  yelled 
to  Tom.  'Don't  hear  them,'  Tom  yelled  back,  'but 
thank  God,  anyway,  that  they  have  got  it  in  the  neck!' 

"In  fact,  there  were  ten  thousand  dead  German  sol- 
diers left  before  that  salient  of  the  English  army,  and 
consequently — no  Sedan.  In  Germany  the  General  Staff 
decided  that  the  English  must  have  employed  turpenite 
shells,  as  no  wounds  were  discernible  on  the  bodies  of 
the  dead  soldiers.  But  the  man  who  knew  what  nuts 
tasted  like  when  they  called  themselves  steak,  knew  also 
that  St.  George  had  brought  his  Agincourt  Bowmen  to 
help  the  English." 


192       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

Such  accounts  have  been  confirmed  by  others.  Thus, 
Miss  Phyllis  Campbell,  writing  in  The  Occult  Review 
(October,  1915),  says: 

t  "I  tremble,  now  that  it  is  safely  past,  to  look  back 
on  the  terrible  week  that  brought  the  Allies  to  Vitry-le- 
Frangois.  "We  had  not  had  our  clothes  off  for  the  whole 
of  that  week,  because  no  sooner  had  we  reached  home, 
too  weary  to  undress,  or  to  eat,  and  fallen  on  our  beds, 
than  the  'chug-chug*  of  the  commandant's  car  would 
sound  into  the  silence  of  the  deserted  street,  and  the 
horn  would  imperatively  summon  us  back  to  duty — be- 
cause, in  addition  to  our  duties  as  ambulancier  aux- 
iliare,  we  were  interpreters  to  the  post,  now  at  this  mo- 
ment diminished  to  half  a  dozen. 

"Beturning  at  4:30  in  the  morning,  we  stood  on  the 
end  of  the  platform,  watching  the  train  crawl  through 
the  blue-green  mist  of  the  forest  into  the  clearing,  and 
draw  up  with  the  first  wounded  from  Vitry-le-Frangois. 
It  was  packed  with  dead  and  dying  and  badly  wounded. 
For  a  time  we  forgot  our  weariness  in  a  race  against 
time — removing  the  dead  and  dying,  and  attending  to 
those  in  need.  I  was  bandaging  a  man's  shattered  arm 
with  the  majeur  instructing  me,  while  he  stitched  a  hor- 
rible gap  in  his  head,  when  Madame  de  A — ,  the  heroic 
president  of  the  post,  came  and  replaced  me.  *  There  is 
an  English  in  the  fifth  wagon/  she  said.  'He  wants 
something — I  think  a  holy  picture!' 

"The  idea  of  an  English  soldier  wanting  a  holy  pic- 
ture struck  me,  even  in  that  atmosphere  of  blood  and 
misery,  as  something  to  smile  at — but  I  hurried  away. 
'The  English'  was  a  Lancashire  Fusilier.  He  was 
propped  in  a  corner,  his  left  arm  tied-up  in  a  peasant 


PHANTOM  ARMIES  SEEN  IN  FRANCE  193 

woman's  handkerchief,  and  his  head  newly  bandaged. 
He  should  have  been  in  a  state  of  collapse  from  loss  of 
blood,  for  his  tattered  uniform  was  soaked  and  caked 
in  blood,  and  his  face  paper-white  under  the  dirt  of  con- 
flict. He  looked  at  me  with  bright,  courageous  eyes 
and  asked  for  a  picture  or  a  medal  (he  didn't  care 
which)  of  St.  George.  I  asked  him  if  he  was  a  Catholic. 
*  No, '  he  was  Wesleyan  Methodist,  and  he  wanted  a  pic- 
ture or  a  medal  of  St.  George,  because  he  had  seen  him 
on  a  white  horse,  leading  the  British  at  Vitry-le-Fran- 
cois, when  the  Allies  turned. 

"There  was  an  F.  R.  A.  man,  wounded  in  the  leg, 
sitting  beside  him  on  the  floor ;  he  saw  my  .ook  of  amaze- 
ment, and  hastened  in:  'It's  true,  sister,'  he  said.  'We 
all  saw  it.  First  there  was  a  sort  of  yellow  mist-like, 
sort  of  risin'  before  the  Germans  as  they  came  on  the 
top  of  the  hill — come  on  like  a  solid  wall,  they  did — 
springing  out  of  the  earth  just  solid — no  end  to  'em! 
I  just  give  up.  No  use  fighting  the  whole  German 
race,  thinks  I;  it's  all  up  with  us.  The  next  minute 
comes  this  funny  cloud  of  light,  and  when  it  clears  off, 
there's  a  tall  man  with  yellow  hair  in  golden  armor,  on 
a  white  horse,  holding  his  sword  up,  and  his  mouth  open 
as  if  he  was  saying:  "Come  on,  boys!  I'll  put  the 
kybosh  on  the  devils!"  Sort  of  "This  is  my  picnic" 
expression.  Then,  before  you  could  say  "knife,"  the 
Germans  had  turned,  and  we  were  after  them,  fighting 
like  ninety  .  .  .' 

"Where  was  this?"  I  asked.  But  neither  of  them 
could  tell.  They  had  marched,  fighting  a  rear-guard 
action,  from  Mons,  till  St.  George  had  appeared  through 
the  haze  of  light,  and  turned  the  enemy.  They  both 


194       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

knew  it  was  St.  George.  Hadn't  they  seen  him  with  a 
sword  on  every  '  quid '  they  'd  ever  seen  ?  The  Frenchies 
had  seen  him  too — ask  them;  but  they  said  it  was  St. 
Michael.  .  .  ." 

Much  additional  testimony  of  a  like  nature  might  be 
given — and  has  been  collected  by  students  of  psychical 
research.  If  the  spiritual  world  ever  intervenes  in 
matters  mundane,  it  assuredly  did  so  on  this  occasion. 
And  it  could  hardly  have  chosen  a  more  opportune  time. 
Could  the  aspiring  thoughts  of  the  dead  and  dying, 
and  those  still  living  and  fighting  for  their  country, 
have  drawn  "St.  George "  to  earth,  to  aid  in  again 
redeeming  his  country  from  a  foreign  foe?  Could  a 
simple  "hallucination"  have  been  so  widespread  and  so 
prevalent?  Or  might  there  not  have  been  some  spirit- 
ual energy  behind  the  visions  thus  seen — stimulating 
them,  and  inspiring  and  encouraging  the  stricken  sol- 
diers? We  cannot  say.  We  only  know  what  the  sol- 
diers themselves  say;  and  we  also  know  the  undoubted 
effects  upon  the  enemy.  For  on  both  occasions  were 
the  Germans  repulsed  with  terrible  slaughter.  Perhaps 
the  vision  of  St.  George  led  our  soldiers  into  closer  touch 
and  rapport  with  the  consciousness  of  some  high  intelli- 
gence— or  the  veil  separating  the  two  worlds  was  rent — 
as  so  often  appears  to  be  the  case  in  apparitions  and 
visions  of  this  character. 


THE  PORTAL  OF  THE  UNKNOWN 

BY  ANDREW  JACKSON  DAVIS,  "THE  SEER" 

WHEN  the  hour  of  her  death  arrived,  I  was  fortu- 
nately in  a  proper  state  of  mind  and  body  to 
produce  the  superior  (clairvoyant)  condition; 
but,  previous  to  throwing  my  spirit  into  that  condition,  I 
sought  the  most  convenient  and  favorable  position,  that  I 
might  be  allowed  to  make  the  observations  entirely  unno- 
ticed and  undisturbed.  Thus  situated  and  conditioned, 
I  proceeded  to  observe  and  investigate  the  mysterious 
processes  of  dying,  and  to  learn  what  it  is  for  an  indi- 
vidual human  spirit  to  undergo  the  changes  consequent 
upon  physical  death  or  external  dissolution.  They  were 
these : 

I  saw  that  the  physical  organization  could  no  longer 
subserve  the  diversified  purposes  or  requirements  of 
the  spiritual  principle.  But  the  various  internal  or- 
gans of  the  body  appeared  to  resist  the  withdrawal  of 
the  animating  soul.  The  body  and  the  soul,  like  two 
friends,  strongly  resisted  the  various  circumstances 
which  rendered  their  eternal  separation  imperative  and 
absolute.  These  internal  conflicts  gave  rise  to  manifes- 
tations of  what  seemed  to  be,  to  the  material  senses,  the 
most  thrilling  and  painful  sensations ;  but  I  was  un- 
speakably thankful  and  delighted  when  I  perceived  and 
realized  the  fact  that  those  physical  manifestations  were 


196       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

indications,  not  of  pain  or  unhappiness,  but  simply  that 
the  spirit  was  eternally  dissolving  its  co-partnership 
with  the  material  organism. 

Now  the  head  of  the  body  became  suddenly  en- 
veloped in  a  fine,  soft,  mellow,  luminous  atmosphere; 
and,  as  instantly,  I  saw  the  cerebrum  and  the  cere- 
bellum expand  their  most  interior  portions ;  I  saw  them 
discontinue  their  appropriate  galvanic  functions;  and 
then  I  saw  that  they  became  highly  charged  with  the 
vital  electricity  and  vital  magnetism  which  permeate 
subordinate  systems  and  structures.  That  is  to  say, 
the  brain,  as  a  whole,  suddenly  declared  itself  to  be  ten- 
fold more  positive,  over  the  lesser  proportions  of  the 
body,  than  it  ever  was  during  the  period  of  health. 
This  phenomenon  invariably  precedes  physical  dissolu- 
tion. 

Now  the  process  of  dying,  or  the  spirit's  departure 
from  the  body,  was  fully  commenced.  The  brain  began 
to  attract  the  elements  of  electricity,  of  magnetism,  of 
motion,  of  life,  and  of  sensation,  into  its  various  and 
numerous  departments.  The  head  became  intensely 
brilliant;  and  I  particularly  remarked  that  just* in  the 
same  proportion  as  the  extremities  of  the  organism  grow 
dark  and  cold,  the  brain  appears  light  and  glowing. 

Now  I  saw,  in  the  mellow,  spiritual  atmosphere 
which  emanated  from  and  encircled  her  head,  the  in- 
distinct outlines  of  the  formation  of  another  head.  This 
new  head  unfolded  more  and  more  distinctly,  and  so 
indescribably  compact  and  intensely  brilliant  did  it  be- 
come, that  I  could  neither  see  through  4t,  nor  gaze 
upon  it  as  steadily  as  I  desired.  While  this  spiritual 
head  was  being  eliminated  and  organized  from  out  of 


THE  PORTAL  OF  THE  UNKNOWN    197 

and  above  the  material  head,  I  saw  that  the  surround- 
ing aromal  atmosphere  which  had  emanated  from  the 
material  head  was  in  great  commotion;  but,  as  the  new 
head  became  more  distinct  and  perfect,  this  brilliant 
atmosphere  gradually  disappeared.  This  taught  me 
that  those  aromal  elements,  which  were,  in  the  begin- 
ning of  the  metamorphosis,  attracted  from  the  system 
into  the  brain,  and  thence  eliminated  in  the  form  of 
an  atmosphere,  were  indissolubly  united  in  accord- 
ance with  the  divine  principle  of  affinity  in  the  uni- 
verse, which  pervades  and  destinates  every  particle  of 
matter,  and  developed  the  spiritual  head  which  I  be- 
held. 

In  the  identical  manner  in  which  the  spiritual  head 
was  eliminated  and  unchangeably  organized,  I  saw,  un- 
folding in  their  natural  progressive  order,  the  harmoni- 
ous development  of  the  neck,  the  shoulders,  the  breast 
and  the  entire  spiritual  organization.  It  appeared  from 
this,  even"*to  an  unequivocal  demonstration,  that  the  in- 
numerable particles  of  what  might  be  termed  unpar- 
ticled  matter  which  constitute  the  man's  spiritual  prin- 
ciple, are  constitutionally  endowed  with  certain  elective 
affinities,  analogous  to  an  immortal  friendship.  The  in- 
nate tendencies  which  the  elements  and  essences  of  her 
soul  manifested  by  uniting  and  organizing  themselves, 
were  the  efficient  and  imminent  causes  which  unfolded 
and  perfected  her  spiritual  organization.  The  defects 
and  deformities  of  her  physical  body  were,  in  the  spir- 
itual body  which  I  saw  thus  developed,  almost  com- 
pletely removed.  In  other  words,  it  seemed  that  those 
hereditary  obstructions  and  influences  were  now  re- 
moved, which  originally  arrested  the  full  and  proper 


198       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

v 

development  of  her  physical  constitution;  and,  there- 
fore, that  her  spiritual  constitution,  being  elevated 
above  those  obstructions,  was  enabled  to  unfold  and 
perfect  itself,  in  accordance  with  the  universal  tenden- 
cies of  all  created  things. 

"While  this  spiritual  formation  was  going  on,  which 
was  perfectly  visible  to  my  spiritual  perceptions,  the 
material  body  manifested,  to  the  outer  vision  of  ob- 
serving individuals  in  the  room,  many  symptoms  of 
uneasiness  and  pain;  but  the  indications  were  totally 
deceptive ;  they  were  wholly  caused  by  the  departure 
of  the  vital  or  spiritual  forces  from  the  extremities  and 
viscera  into  the  brain,  and  thence  into  the  ascending 
organism. 

The  spirit  arose  at  right  angles  over  the  head  or  brain 
of  the  deserted  body.  But  immediately  previous  to  the 
final  dissolution  of  the  relationship  which  had  for  so 
many  years  subsisted  between  the  two,  the  spiritual  and 
material  bodies,  I  saw — playing  energetically  between 
the  feet  of  the  elevated  spiritual  body  and  the  head  of 
the  prostrate  physical  body — a  bright  stream  or  current 
of  vital  electricity.  And  here  I  perceived  what  I  had 
never  before  obtained  a  knowledge  of,  that  a  small  por- 
tion of  this  vital  electrical  element  returned  to  the  de- 
serted body  immediately  subsequent  to  the  separation 
of  the  umbilical  thread;  and  that  that  portion  of  this 
element  which  passed  back  into  the  earthly  organism 
instantly  diffused  itself  through  the  entire  structure, 
and  thus  prevented  immediate  decomposition. 

As  soon  as  the  spirit,  whose  departing  hour  I  thus 
watched,  was  wholly  disengaged  from  the  tenacious 
physical  body,  I  directed  my  attention  to  the  movements 


THE  PORTAL  OF  THE  UNKNOWN    199 

and  emotions  of  the  former;  and  I  saw  her  begin  to 
breathe  the  most  interior  or  spiritual  portions  of  the 
surrounding  terrestrial  atmosphere.  At  first  it  seemed 
with  difficulty  that  she  could  breathe  the  new  medium; 
but  in  a  few  seconds  she  inhaled  and  exhaled  the  spirit- 
ual elements  of  nature  with  the  greatest  possible  ease 
and  delight.  And  now  I  saw  that  she  was  in  posses- 
sion of  exterior  and  physical  proportions,  which  were 
identical,  in  every  possible  particular — improved  and 
beautified — with  those  proportions  which  characterized 
her  earthly  organization.  Indeed,  so  much  like  her 
former  self  was  she  that,  had  her  friends  beheld  her  as 
I  did,  they  certainly  would  have  exclaimed — as  we  often 
do  upon  the  sudden  return  of  a  long-absent  friend,  who 
leaves  us  and  returns  in  health — 'Why,  how  well  you 
look!  How  improved  you  are!*  Such  was  the  nature 
— most  beautifying  in  their  extent — of  the  improvements 
that  were  wrought  upon  her. 

I  saw  her  continue  to  conform  and  accustom  herself 
to  the  new  elements  and  elevating  sensations  which  be- 
long to  the  inner  life.  I  did  not  particularly  notice 
the  workings  and  emotions  of  her  newly-awakening  and 
fast-unfolding  spirit,  except  that  I  was  careful  to  re- 
mark her  philosophical  tranquillity  throughout  the  en- 
tire process,  and  her  non-participation  with  the  differ- 
ent members  of  her  family  in  their  unrestrained  bewail- 
ing of  her  departure  from  the  earth,  to  unfold  in  Love 
and  Wisdom  throughout  eternal  spheres.  She  under- 
stood at  a  glance  that  they  could  only  gaze  upon  the 
cold  and  lifeless  form,  which  she  had  but  just  deserted; 
and  she  readily  comprehended  the  fact  that  it  was  ow- 
ing to  a  want  of  true  knowledge  upon  their  parts  that 


200       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

they  thus  vehemently  regretted    her    merely    physical 
death. 

The  period  required  to  accomplish  the  entire  change 
which  I  saw  was  not  far  from  two  hours  and  a  half; 
but  this  furnished  no  rule  as  to  the  time  required  for 
every  spirit  to  elevate  and  reorganize  itself  above  the 
head  of  the  outer  form.  Without  changing  my  position 
or  spiritual  perceptions  I  continued  to  observe  the  move- 
ments of  her  new-born  spirit.  As  soon  as  she  became 
accustomed  to  her  new  elements  which  surrounded  her, 
she  descended  from  her  elevated  position,  which  was  im- 
mediately over  the  body,  by  an  effort  of  the  will-power, 
and  directly  passed  out  of  the  door  of  the  bedroom  in 
which  she  had  lain,  in  the  material  form,  prostrated 
with  disease  for  several  weeks.  It  being  in  a  summer 
month,  the  doors  were  all  open,  and  her  egress  from  the 
house  was  attended  with  no  obstruction.  I  saw  her  pass 
through  the  adjoining  room,  out  of  the  door,  and  step 
from  the  house  into  the  atmosphere!  I  was  over- 
whelmed with  delight  and  astonishment  when,  for  the 
first  time,  I  realized  the  universal  truth  that  the  spir- 
itual organization  can  tread  the  atmosphere,  which  is 
impossible  while  in  the  coarser  earthly  form — so  much 
more  refined  is  man's  spiritual  constitution.  She  walked 
in  the  atmosphere  as  easily,  and  in  the  same  manner,  as 
we  tread  the  earth  and  ascend  an  eminence.  Immedi- 
ately upon  her  emergement  from  the  house,  she  was 
joined  by  two  friendly  spirits  from  the  spiritual  coun- 
try, and  after  tenderly  recognizing  and  communing  with 
each  other,  the  three,  in  the  mo£t  graceful  manner,  be- 
gan ascending  obliquely  through  the  ethereal  envelop- 
ment of  her  globe.  They  walked  so  naturally  and  fra- 


THE  PORTAL  OF  THE  UNKNOWN    201 

ternally  together  that  I  could  scarcely  realize  the  fact 
that  they  trod  the  air — they  seemed  to  be  walking  upon 
the  side  of  a  glorious  but  familiar  mountain.  I  con- 
tinued to  gaze  upon  them  until  the  distance  shut  them 
from  my  view, — whereupon  I  returned  to  my  external 
and  ordinary  condition. 

This  account  of  the  facts — of  what  actually  happened 
at  death — is  confirmed  by  numerous  other  witnesses, 
who  agree  as  to  the  main  details. 


THE  SUPERNORMAL:  EXPERIENCES 

BY  ST.  JOHN  B.  SEYMOUR 

WHEN  Mrs.  Seymour  was  a  little  girl  she  resided 
in  Dublin ;  amongst  the  members  of  the  family 
was  her  paternal  grandmother.  This  old  lady 
was  not  as  kind  as  she  might  have  been  to  her  grand- 
daughter, and  consequently  the  latter  was  somewhat 
afraid  of  her.  In  process  of  time  the  grandmother  died. 
Mrs.  Seymour,  who  was  then  about  eight  years  of  age, 
had  to  pass  the  door  of  the  room  where  the  death  oc- 
curred in  order  to  reach  her  own  bedroom,  which  was  a 
flight  higher  up.  Past  this  door  the  child  used  to  fly 
in  terror  with  all  possible  speed.  On  one  occasion,  how- 
ever, as  she  was  preparing  to  make  the  usual  rush  past, 
she  distinctly  felt  a  hand  placed  on  her  shoulder,  and 
became  conscious  of  a  voice  saying,  " Don't  be  afraid, 
Mary!"  From  that  day  on  the  child  never  had  the 
least  feeling  of  fear,  and  always  walked  quietly  past  the 
door. 

The  Rev.  D.  B.  Knox  sends  a  curious  personal  experi- 
ence, which  was  shared  by  him  with  three  other  people. 
He  writes  as  follows:  "Not  very  long  ago  my  wife  and 
I  were  preparing  to  retire  for  the  night.  A  niece,  who 
was  in  the  house,  was  in  her  bedroom  and  the  door  was 
open.  The  inaid  had  just  gone  to  her  room.  All  four 

202 


SUPEENOEMAL  EXPEEIENCES      203 

of  us  distinctly  heard  the  heavy  step  of  a  man  walking 
along  the  corridor,  apparently  in  the  direction  of  the 
bathroom.  We  searched  the  whole  house  immediately, 
but  no  one  was  discovered.  Nothing  untoward  hap- 
pened except  the  death  of  the  maid's  mother  about  a 
fortnight  later.  It  was  a  detached  house,  so  that  the 
noise  could  not  have  been  made  by  the  neighbors." 

In  the  following  tale  the  "double"  or  "wraith"  of  a 
living  man  was  seen  by  three  different  people,  one  of 
whom,  our  correspondent,  saw  it  through  a  telescope. 
She  writes:  "In  May,  1883,  the  parish  of  A —  was 
vacant,  so  Mr.  D — ,  the  Diocesan  Curate,  used  to  come 
out  to  take  service  on  Sundays.  One  day  there  were 
two  funerals  to  be  taken,  the  one  at  a  graveyard  some 
distance  off,  the  other  at  A —  churchyard.  My 
brother  was  at  both,  the  far-off  one  being  taken  the  first. 
The  house  we  then  lived  in  looked  down  towards  A — 
churchyard,  which  was  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away. 
From  an  upper  window  my  sister  and  I  saw  two  sur- 
pliced  figures  going  out  to  meet  the  coffin,  and  said, 
'Why,  there  are  two  clergy!'  having  supposed  that 
there  would  be  only  Mr.  D — .  I,  being  short-sighted, 
used  a  telescope,  and  saw  the  two  surplices  showing  be- 
tween the  people.  But  when  my  brother  returned  he 
said:  'A  strange  thing  has  happened.  Mr.  D —  and' 
Mr.  W —  (curate  of  a  neighboring  parish)  took  the 
far-off  funeral.  I  saw  them  both  again  at  A — ,  but 
when  I  went  into  the  vestry  I  only  saw  Mr.  W — .  I 
asked  where  Mr.  D —  was,  and  he  replied  that  he  had 
left  immediately  after  the  first  funeral,  as  he  had  to  go 
to  Kilkenny,  and  that  he  (Mr.  W — )  had  come  on 
alone  to  take  the  funeral  at  A — -.'  " 


204       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

Here  is  a  curious  tale  from  the  city  of  Limerick  of  a 
lady's  "double"  being  seen,  with  no  consequent  results. 
It  is  sent  by  Mr.  Eichard  Hogan  as  the  personal  experi- 
ence of  his  sister,  Mrs.  Mary  Murnane.  On  Saturday, 
October  25,  1913,  at  half-past  four  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, Mr.  Hogan  left  the  house  in  order  to  purchase 
some  cigarettes.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  afterwards  Mrs. 
Murnane  went  down  the  town  to  do  some  business.  As 
she  was  walking  down  George  Street  she  saw  a  group 
of  four  persons  standing  on  the  pavement  engaged  in 
conversation.  They  were  her  brother,  a  Mr.  O'S — , 
and  two  ladies,  a  Miss  P.  O'D — ,  and  her  sister,  Miss 
M.  O'D — .  She  recognized  the  latter,  as  her  face  was 
partly  turned  towards  her,  and  noted  that  she  was 
dressed  in  a  knitted  coat,  and  light  blue  hat,  while  in 
her  left  hand  she  held  a  bag  or  purse ;  the  other  lady 's 
back  was  turned  towards  her.  As  Mrs.  Murnane  was  in 
a  hurry  to  get  her  business  done  she  determined  to  pass 
them  by  without  being  noticed,  but  a  number  of  people 
coming  in  the  opposite  direction  blocked  the  way,  and 
compelled  her  to  walk  quite  close  to  the  group  of  four, 
but  they  were  so  intent  on  listening  to  what  one  lady 
was  saying  that  they  took  no  notice  of  her.  The  speaker 
appeared  to  be  Miss  M.  O'D — ,  and  though  Mrs.  Mur- 
nane did  not  actually  hear  her  speak  as  she  passed  her, 
yet  from  their  attitudes  the  other  three  seemed  to  be 
listening  to  what  she  was  saying,  and  she  heard  her 
laugh  when  right  behind  her — not  the  laugh  of  her  sis- 
ter P — and  the  laugh  was  repeated  after  she  had  left 
the  group  a  little  behind. 

So  far  there  is  nothing  out  of  the  common.  When 
Mrs.  Murnane  returned  to  her  house  about  an  hour  later 


SUPERNORMAL  EXPERIENCES     205 

she  found  her  brother  Richard  there  before  her.  She 
casually  mentioned  to  him  how  she  had  passed  him  and 
his  three  companions  on  the  pavement.  To  which  he 
replied  that  she  was  quite  correct  except  in  one  point, 
namely  that  there  were  only  three  in  the  group,  as  M. 
O'D —  ivas  not  present,  as  she  had  not  come  to  Lim- 
erick at  all  that  day.  She  then  described  to  him  the 
exact  position  each  one  of  the  four  occupied,  and  the 
clothes  worn  by  them,  to  all  of  which  facts  he  assented, 
except  as  to  the  presence  of  Miss  M.  O'D — .  Mrs. 
Murnane  adds,  ' '  That  is  all  I  can  say  in  the  matter,  but 
most  certainly  the  fourth  person  was  in  the  group,  as 
I  both  saw  and  heard  her.  She  wore  the  same  clothes 
I  had  seen  on  her  previously,  with  the  exception  of  the 
hat;  but  the  following  Saturday  she  had  on  the  same 
colored  hat  I  had  seen  on  her  the  previous  Saturday. 
When  I  told  her  about  it  she  was  as  much  mystified  as 
I  was  and  am.  My  brother  stated  that  there  was  no 
laugh  from  any  of  the  three  present." 

Mrs.  GK  Kelly  sends  an  experience  of  a  "  wraith " 
which  seems  in  some  mysterious  way  to  have  been  con- 
jured up  in  her  mind  by  the  description  she  had  heard, 
and  then  externalized.  She  writes:  "About  four  years 
ago  a  musical  friend  of  ours  was  staying  in  the  house. 
He  and  my  husband  were  playing  and  singing  Dvorak's 
'Spectre's  Bride/  a  work  which  he  had  studied  with 
the  composer  himself.  This  music  appealed  very  much 
to  both,  and  they  were  excited  and  enthusiastic  over 
it.  Our  friend  was  giving  many  personal  reminiscences 
of  Dvorak,  and  his  method  of  explaining  the  way  he 
wanted  his  work  done.  I  was  sitting  by,  an  interested 
listener,  for  some  time.  On  getting  up  at  last,  and  go- 


206      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

ing  into  the  drawing-room,  I  was  startled  and  somewhat 
frightened  to  find  a  man  standing  there  in  a  shadowy 
part  of  the  room.  I  saw  him  distinctly,  and  could  de- 
scribe his  appearance  accurately.  I  called  out,  and  the 
two  men  ran  in,  but  as  the  apparition  only  lasted  for  a 
second,  they  were  too  late.  I  described  the  man  whom 
I  had  seen,  whereupon  our  friend  exclaimed,  'Why, 
that  was  Dvorak  himself!'  At  that  time  I  had  never 
seen  a  picture  of  Dvorak,  but  when  our  friend  returned 
to  London  he  sent  me  one  which  I  recognized  as  the  like- 
ness of  the  man  whom  I  had  seen  in  our  drawing-room. ' ' 
A  curious  vision,  a  case  of  second  sight,  in  which  a 
quite  unimportant  event,  previously  unknown,  was  re- 
vealed, is  sent  by  the  percipient,  who  is  a  lady  well 
known  to  both  the  compilers,  and  a  life-long  friend  of 
one  of  them.  She  says:  "Last  summer  I  sent  a  cow 
to  the  fair  of  Limerick,  a  distance  of  about  thirteen 
miles,  and  the  men  who  took  her  there  the  day  before 
the  fair  left  her  in  a  paddock  for  the  night  close  to 
Limerick  city.  I  awoke  up  very  early  next  morning, 
and  was  fully  awake  when  I  saw  (not  with  my  ordinary 
eyesight,  but  apparently  inside  my  head)  a  light,  an 
intensely  brilliant  light,  and  in  it  I  saw  the  back  gate 
being  opened  by  a  red-haired  woman  and  the  cow  I  had 
supposed  in  the  fair  walking  through  the  gate.  I  then 
knew  that  the  cow  must  be  home,  and  going  to  the  yard 
later  on  I  was  met  by  the  wife  of  the  man  who  was  in 
charge  in  a  great  state  of  excitement.  'Oh  law!  Miss/ 
she  exclaimed,  'you'll  be  mad!  Didn't  Julia  [a  red- 
haired  woman]  find  the  cow  outside  the  lodge  gate  as 
she  was  going  out  at  4  o'clock  to  the  milking!'  That's 


SUPERNORMAL  EXPERIENCES      207 

my  tale — perfectly  true,  and  I  would  give  a  good  deal  to 
be  able  to  control  that  light,  and  see  more  if  I  could. ' ' 

Another  curious  vision  was  seen  by  a  lady  who  is  also 
a  friend  of  both  the  compilers.  One  night  she  was 
kneeling  at  her  bedside  saying  her  prayers  (hers  was 
the  only  bed  in  the  room),  when  suddenly  she  felt  a 
distinct  touch  on  her  shoulder.  She  turned  round  in 
the  direction  of  the  touch  and  saw  at  the  end  of  the 
room  a  bed,  with  a  pale,  indistinguishable  figure  laid 
therein,  and  what  appeared  to  be  a  clergyman  standing 
over  it.  About  a  week  later  she  fell  into  a  long  and  dan- 
gerous illness. 

An  account  of  a  dream  which  implied  an  extraordi- 
nary coincidence,  if  coincidence  it  be  and  nothing  more, 
was  sent  as  follows  by  a  correspondent,  who  requested 
that  no  names  be  published.  "That  which  I  am  about 
to  relate  has  a  peculiar  interest  for  me,  inasmuch  as  the 
central  figure  in  it  was  my  own  grand-aunt,  and  more- 
over the  principal  witness  (if  I  may  use  such  a  term) 
was  my  father.  At  the  period  during  which  this  strange 
incident  occurred  my  father  was  living  with  his  aunt 
and  some  other  relatives. 

"One  morning  at  the  breakfast-table,  my  grand-aunt 
announced  that  she  had  had  a  most  peculiar  dream  dur- 
ing the  previous  night.  My  father,  who  was  always  very 
interested  in  that  kind  of  thing,  took  down  in  his  note- 
book all  the  particulars  concerning  it.  They  were  as 
follows : 

"My  grand-aunt  dreamt  that  she  was  in  a  cemetery, 
which  she  recognized  as  Glasnevin,  and  as  she  gazed  at 
the  memorials  of  the  dead  which  lay  so  thick  around, 
one  stood  out  most  conspicuously,  and  caught  her  eye, 


208      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

for  she  saw  clearly  cut  on  the  cold  white  stone  an  in- 
scription bearing  her  own  name: 

CLARE  •  S  •  D— 
Died  14th  of  March,  1873 
Dearly  loved  and  ever  mourned 
R.I.P. 

while,  to  add  to  the  peculiarity  of  it,  the  date  on  the 
stone  as  given  above  was,  from  the  day  of  her  dream, 
exactly  a  year  in  advance. 

"My  grand-aunt  was  not  very  nervous,  and  soon  the 
dream  faded  from  her  mind.  Months  rolled  by,  and  one 
morning  at  breakfast  it  was  noticed  that  my  grand- 
aunt  had  not  appeared,  but  as  she  was  a  very  religious 
woman  it  was  thought  that  she  had  gone  out  to  church. 
However,  as  she  did  not  appear  my  father  sent  someone 
to  her  room  to  see  if  she  were  there,  and  as  no  answer 
was  given  to  repeated  knocking  the  door  was  opened, 
and  my  grand-aunt  was  found  kneeling  at  her  bedside, 
dead.  The  day  of  her  death  was  March  14,  1873,  cor- 
responding exactly  with  the  date  seen  in  her  dream  a 
twelvemonth  before.  My  grand-aim^  was  buried  in 
Glasnevin,  and  on  her  tombstone  (a  white  marble  slab) 
was  placed  the  inscription  which  she  had  read  in  her 
dream. "  Our  correspondent  sent  us  a  photograph  of 
the  stone  and  its  inscription. 

The  present  Archdeacon  of  Limerick,  Ven.  J.  A. 
Haydn,  LL.D.,  sends  the  following  experience:  "In  the 
year  1870  I  was  rector  of  the  little  rural  parish  of 
Chapel  Russell.  One  autumn  day  the  rain  fell  with  a 
quiet,  steady,  and  hopeless  persistence  from  morning  to 
night.  Wearied  at  length  from  the  gloom,  and  tired 


SUPEENOEMAL  EXPEEIENCES      209 

of  reading  and  writing,  I  determined  to  walk  to  the 
church  about  half  a  mile  away,  and  pass  a  half -hour 
playing  the  harmonium,  returning  for  the  lamp-light 
and  tea. 

"I  wrapped  up,  put  the  key  of  the  church  in  my 
pocket,  and  started.  Arriving  at  the  church,  I  walked 
up  the  straight  avenue,  bordered  with  graves  and  tombs 
on  either  side,  while  the  soft,  steady  rain  quietly  pat- 
tered on  the  trees.  When  I  reached  the  church  door, 
before  putting  the  key  in  the  lock,  moved  by  some  inde- 
finable impulse  I  stood  on  the  doorstep,  turned  round, 
and  looked  back  upon  the  path  I  had  just  trodden.  My 
amazement  may  be  imagined  when  I  saw,  seated  on  a 
low,  tabular  tombstone  close  to  the  avenue,  a  lady  with 
her  back  towards  me.  She  was  wearing  a  black  velvet 
jacket  or  short  cape,  with  a  narrow  border  of  vivid 
white;  her  head  and  luxuriant  jet-black  hair  were  sur- 
mounted by  a  hat  of  the  shape  and  make  that  I  think 
used  to  be  called  at  that  time  a  'turban';  it  was  also 
of  black  velvet,  with  a  snow-white  wing  or  feather  at 
the  right-hand  side  of  it.  It  may  be  seen  how  deliber- 
ately and  minutely  I  observed  the  appearance,  when  I 
can  thus  recall  it  after  more  than  forty  years. 

11  Actuated  by  a  desire  to  attract  the  attention  of  the 
lady,  and  induce  her  to  look  towards  me,  I  noisily  in- 
serted the  key  in  the  door,  and  suddenly  opened  it  with 
a  rusty  crack.  Turning  around  to  see  the  effect  of  my 
policy — the  lady  was  gone ! — vanished.  Not  yet  daunted, 
I  hurried  to  the  place,  which  was  not  ten  paces  away,  and 
closely  searched  the  stone  and  the  space  all  around  it, 
but  utterly  in  vain;  there  were  absolutely  no  traces  of 
the  late  presence  of  a  human  being!  I  may  add  that 


210       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

nothing  particular  or  remarkable  followed  the  singular 
apparition,  and  that  I  never  heard  anything  calculated 
to  throw  any  light  on  the  mystery. ' ' 

Here  is  a  story  of  a  ghost  who  knew  what  it  wanted 
— and  got  it!  "In  the  part  of  County  Wicklow  from 
which  my  people  come/'  writes  a  Miss  D — ,  "there 
was  a  family  who  were  not  exactly  related,  but  of  course 
of  the  clan.  Many  years  ago  a  young  daughter,  aged 
about  twenty,  died.  Before  her  death  she  had  directed 
her  parents  to  bury  her  in  a  certain  graveyard.  But  for 
some  reason  they  did  not  do  so,  and  from  that  hour  she 
gave  them  no  peace.  She  appeared  to  them  at  all  hours, 
especially  when  they  went  to  the  well  for  water.  So 
distracted  were  they,  that  at  length  they  got  permission 
to  exhume  the  remains  and  have  them  reinterred  in  the 
desired  graveyard.  This  they  did  by  torchlight — a 
weird  scene  truly!  I  can  vouch  for  the  truth  of  this 
latter  portion,  at  all  events,  as  some  of  my  own  relatives 
were  present." 

Mr.  T.  J.  Westropp  contributes  a  tale  of  a  ghost  of 
an  unusual  type,  i.e.  one  which  actually  did  communi- 
cate matters  of  importance  to  his  family.  ' '  A  lady  who 
related  many  ghost  stories  to  me,  also  told  me  how, 
after  her  father's  death,  the  family  could  not  find  some 
papers  or  receipts  of  value.  One  night  she  awoke,  and 
heard  a  sound  which  she  at  once  recognized  as  the  foot- 
steps of  her  father,  who  was  lame.  The  door  creaked, 
and  she  prayed  that  she  might  be  able  to  see  him.  Her 
prayer  was  granted:  she  saw  him  distinctly  holding  a 
yellow  parchment  book  tied  with  tape.  *F — ,  child/ 
said  he,  'this  is  the  book  your  mother  is  looking  for.  It 
is  in  the  third  drawer  of  the  cabinet  near  the  cross- 


SUPERNORMAL  EXPERIENCES      211 

door;  tell  your  mother  to  be  more  careful  in  future 
about  business  papers. '  Incontinently  he  vanished,  and 
she  at  once  awoke  her  mother,  in  whose  room  she  was 
sleeping,  who  was  very  angry  and  ridiculed  the  story, 
but  the  girl's  earnestness  at  length  impressed  her.  She 
got  up,  went  to  the  old  cabinet,  and  at  once  found  the 
missing  book  in  the  third  drawer.'7 

Here  is  another  tale  of  an  equally  useful  and  obliging 
ghost.  "A  gentleman,  a  relative  of  my  own,"  writes  a 
lady,  "often  received  warnings  from  his  dead  father  of 
things  that  were  about  to  happen.  Besides  the  farm  on 
which  he  lived,  he  had  another  some  miles  away  which 
adjoined  a  large  demesne.  Once  in  a  great  storm  a 
fir-tree  was  blown  down  in  the  demesne,  and  fell  into  his 
field.  The  woodranger  came  to  him  and  told  him  he* 
might  as  well  cut  up  the  tree,  and  take  it  away.  Ac- 
cordingly one  day  he  set  out  for  this  purpose,  taking 
with  him  two  men  and  a  cart.  He  got  into  the  fields 
by  a  stile,  while  his  men  went  on  to  a  gate.  As  he  ap- 
proached a  gap  between  two  fields  he  saw  his  father 
standing  in  it,  as  plainly  as  he  ever  saw  him  in  life,  and 
beckoning  him  back  warningly.  Unable  to  understand 
this,  he  still  advanced,  whereupon  his  father  looked  very 
angry,  and  his  gestures  became  imperious.  This  in- 
duced him  to  turn  away,  so  he  sent  his  men  home,  and 
left  the  tree  uncut.  He  subsequently  discovered  that  a 
plot  had  been  laid  by  the  woodranger,  who  coveted  his 
farm,  and  who  hoped  to  have  him  dispossessed  by  accus- 
ing him  of  stealing  the  tree." 

A  clergyman  in  the  diocese  of  Clogher  gave  a  personal 
experience  of  table-turning  to  the  present  Dean  of  St. 
Patrick's,  who  kindly  sent  the  same  to  the  writer.  He 


212       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

said:  "When  I  was  a  young  man,  I  met  some  friends 
one  evening,  and  we  decided  to  amuse  ourselves  with, 
table-turning.  The  local  dispensary  was  vacant  at  the 
time,  so  we  said  that  if  the  table  would  work  we  should 
ask  who  would  be  appointed  as  medical  officer.  As  we 
sat  round  it  touching  it  with  our  hands  it  began  to 
knock.  We  said: 

"  'Who  are  you?' 

"The  table  spelt  out  the  name  of  a  bishop  of  the 
Church  of  Ireland.  We  asked,  thinking  that  the  answer 
was  absurd,  as  we  knew  him  to  be  alive  and  well: 

"'Are  you  dead?' 

"The  table  answered  'Yes.' 

"We  laughed  at  this  and  asked: 

"  'Who  will  be  appointed  to  the  dispensary!' 

"The  table  spelt  out  the  name  of  a  stranger,  who  was 
not  one  of  the  candidates,  whereupon  we  left  off,  think- 
ing that  the  whole  thing  was  nonsense. 

"The  next  morning  I  saw  in  the  papers  that  the 
bishop  in  question  had  died  that  afternoon  about  two 
hours  before  our  meeting,  and  a  few  days  afterwards 
I  saw  the  name  of  the  stranger  as  the  new  dispensary 
doctor.  I  got  such  a  shock  that  I  determined  never  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  table-turning  again." 

The  following  extraordinary  personal  experience  is 
sent  by  a  lady,  well-known  to  the  present  writer,  but 
who  requests  that  all  names  be  omitted.  Whatever  ex- 
planation we  may  give  of  it,  the  good  faith  of  the  tale 
is  beyond  doubt. 

"Two  or  three  months  after  my  father-in-law's  death, 
my  husband,  myself,  and  three  small  sons  lived  in  the 
west  of  Ireland.  As  my  husband  was  a  young  bar* 


SUPERNORMAL  EXPERIENCES      213 

rister,  he  had  to  be  absent  from  home  a  good  deal.  My 
three  boys  slept  in  my  bedroom,  the  eldest  being  about 
four,  the  youngest  some  months.  A  fire  was  kept  up 
every  night,  and  with  a  young  child  to  look  after,  I  was 
naturally  awake  more  than  once  during  the  night.  For 
many  nights  I  believed  I  distinctly  saw  my  father-in- 
law  sitting  by  the  fireside.  This  happened,  not  once  or 
twice,  but  many  times.  He  was  passionately  fond  of 
his  eldest  grandson,  who  lay  sleeping  calmly  in  his  cot. 
Being  so  much  alone  probably  made  me  restless  and 
uneasy,  though  I  never  felt  afraid.  I  mentioned  this 
strange  thing  to  a  friend  who  had  known  and  liked  my 
father-in-law,  and  she  advised  me  to  'have  his  soul  laid,' 
as  she  termed  it.  Though  I  was  a  Protestant  and  she 
was  a  Roman  Catholic  (as  had  also  been  my  father-in- 
law),  yet  I  fell  in  with  her  suggestion.  She  told  me  to 
give  a  coin  to  the  next  beggar  that  came  to  the  house, 
telling  him  (or  her)  to  pray»for  the  rest  of  Mr.  So-and- 
so's  soul.  A  few  days  later  a  beggar-woman  and  her 
children  came  to  the  door,  to  whom  I  gave  a  coin  and 
stated  my  desire.  To  my  great  surprise  I  learned  from 
her  manner  that  such  requests  were  not  unusual.  Well, 
she  went  down  on  her  knees  on  the  steps,  and  prayed 
with  apparent  earnestness  and  devotion  that  his  soul 
might  find  repose.  Once  again  he  appeared,  and  seemed 

to  say  to  me,  'Why  did  you  do  that,  E ?     To  come 

and  sit  here  was  the  only  comfort  I  had.'  Never  again 
did  he  appear,  and  strange  to  say,  after  a  lapse  of  more 
than  thirty  years  I  have  felt  regret  at  my  selfishness  in 
interfering. 

"After  his  death,  as  he  lay  in  the  house  awaiting 
burial,  and  I  was  in  a  house  some  ten  miles  away,  I 


214      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

thought  that  he  came  and  told  me  that  I  would  have  a 
hard  life,  which  turned  out  only  too  truly.  I  was  then 
young,  and  full  of  life,  with  every  hope  of  a  prosperous 
future. " 

Of  all  the  strange  beliefs  to  be  found  in  Ireland  that 
in  the  Black  Dog  is  the  most  widespread.  There  is 
hardly  a  parish  in  the  country  but  could  contribute 
some  tale  relative  to  this  specter,  though  the  majority 
of  these  are  short,  and  devoid  of  interest.  There  is  said 
to  be  such  a  dog  just  outside  the  avenue  gate  of  Donohill 
Rectory,  but  neither  of  the  compilers  have  had  the 
good  luck  to  see  it.  It  may  be,  as  some  hold,  that  this 
animal  was  originally  a  cloud  or  nature-myth;  at  all 
events,  it  has  now  descended  to  the  level  of  an  ordinary 
haunting.  The  most  circumstantial  story  that  we  have 
met  with  relative  to  the  Black  Dog  is  that  related  as  fol- 
lows by  a  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  Ireland,  who  re- 
quests us  to  refrain  from  publishing  his  name. 

"In  my  childhood  I  lived  in  the  country.  My  father, 
in  addition  to  his  professional  duties,  sometimes  did  a 
little  farming  in  an  amateurish  sort  of  way.  He  did 
not  keep  a  regular  staff  of  laborers,  and  consequently 
when  anything  extra  had  to  be  done,  such  as  hay-cut- 
ting or  harvesting,  he  used  to  employ  day-laborers  to 
help  with  the  work.  At  such  times  I  used  to  enjoy  be- 
ing in  the  fields  with  the  men,  listening  to  their  con- 
versation. On  one  occasion  I  heard  a  laborer  remark 
that  he  had  once  seen  the  devil!  Of  course  I  was  in- 
terested and  asked  him  to  give  me  his  experience.  He 
said  he  was  walking  along  a  certain  road,  and  when  he 
came  to  a  point  where  there  was  an  entrance  to  a  private 
place  (the  spot  was  well  known  to  me),  he  saw  a  black 


SUPEENOEMAL  EXPEEIENCES      215 

dog  sitting  on  the  roadside.  At  the  time  he  paid  no 
attention  to  it,  thinking  it  was  an  ordinary  retriever, 
but  after  he  had  passed  on  about  two  or  three  hundred 
yards  he  found  the  dog  was  beside  him,  and  then  he 
noticed  that  its  eyes  were  blood-red.  He  stooped  down, 
and  picked  up  some  stones  in  order  to  frighten  it  away, 
but  though  he  threw  the  stones  at  it  they  did  not  injure 
it,  nor  indeed  did  they  seem  to  have  any  effect.  Sud- 
denly, after  a  few  moments,  the  dog  vanished  from  his 
sight. 

"Such  was  the  laborer's  tale.  After  some  years,  dur- 
ing which  time  I  had  forgotten  altogether  about  the 
man's  story,  some  friends  of  my  own  bought  the  place 
at  the  entrance  to  which  the  apparition  had  been  seen. 
When  my  friends  went  to  reside  there  I  was  a  constant 
visitor  at  their  house.  Soon  after  their  arrival  they  be- 
gan to  be  troubled  by  the  appearance  of  a  black  dog. 
Though  I  never  saw  it  myself,  it  appeared  to  many  mem- 
bers of  the  family.  The  avenue  leading  to  the  house 
was  a  long  one,  and  it  was  customary  for  the  dog  to 
appear  and  accompany  people  for  the  greater  portion  of 
the  way.  Such  an  effect  had  this  on  my  friends  that 
they  soon  gave  up  the  house,  and  went  to  live  else- 
where. This  was  a  curious  corroboration  of  the  labor- 
er's tale." 

A  distinction  must  be  drawn  between  the  so-called 
Headless  Coach,  which  portends  death,  and  the  Phantom 
Coach,  which  appears  to  be  a  harmless  sort  of  vehicle. 
With  regard  to  the  latter  we  give  two  tales  below,  the 
first  of  which  was  sent  by  a  lady  whose  father  was  a 
clergyman,  and  a  gold  medalist  of  Trinity  College, 
Dublin. 


216       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

"Some  years  ago  my  family  lived  in  County  Down. 
Our  house  was  some  way  out  of  a  fair-sized  manufactur- 
ing town,  and  had  a  short  avenue  which  ended  in  a 
gravel  sweep  in  front  of  the  hall  door.  One  winter's 
evening,  when  my  father  was  returning  from  a  sick  call, 
a  carriage  going  at  a  sharp  pace  passed  him  on  the  ave- 
nue. He  hurried  on,  thinking  it  was  some  particular 
friends,  but  when  he  reached  the  door  no  carriage  was 
to  be  seen,  so  he  concluded  it  must  have  gone  round  to 
the  stables.  The  servant  who  answered  his  ring  said 
that  no  visitors  had  been  there,  and  he,  feeling  certain 
that  the  girl  had  made  some  mistake,  or  that  some  one 
else  had  answered  the  door,  came  into  the  drawing-room 
to  make  further  inquiries.  No  visitors  had  come,  how- 
ever, though  those  sitting  in  the  drawing-room  had  also 
heard  the  carriage  drive  up. 

' '  My  father  was  most  positive  as  to  what  he  had  seen, 
viz.  a  closed  carriage  with  lamps  lit;  and  let  me  say 
at  once  that  he  was  a  clergyman  who  was  known 
throughout  the  whole  of  the  north  of  Ireland  as  a  most 
level-headed  man,  and  yet  to  the  day  of  his  death  he 
would  insist  that  he  met  that  carriage  on  our  avenue. 

' '  One  day  in  July  one  of  our  servants  was  given  leave 
to  go  home  for  the  day,  but  was  told  she  must  return  by 
a  certain  train.  For  some  reason  she  did  not  come  by 
it,  but  by  a  much  later  one,  and  rushed  into  the  kitchen 
in  a  most  penitent  frame  of  mind.  *I  am  so  sorry  to 
be  late/  she  told  the  cook,  *  especially  as  there  were  vis- 
itors. I  suppose  they  stayed  to  supper,  as  they  were  so 
late  going  away,  for  I  met  the  carriage  on  the  avenue.' 
The  cook  thereupon  told  her  that  no  one  had  been  at 
the  house,  and  hinted  that  she  must  have  seen  the  ghost- 


SUPEENOEMAL  EXPEEIENCES      217 

carriage,  a  statement  that  alarmed  her  very  much,  as 
the  story  was  well  known  in  the  town,  and  car-drivers 
used  to  whip  up  their  horses  as  they  passed  our  gate, 
while  pedestrians  refused  to  go  at  all  except  in  num- 
bers. We  have  often  heard  the  carriage,  but  these  are 
the  only  two  occasions  on  which  I  can  positively  assert 
that  it  was  seen. ' ' 

The  following  personal  experience  of  the  phantom 
coach  was  given  to  the  present  writer  by  Mr.  Matthias 
Fitzgerald,  coachman  to  Miss  Cooke,  of  Cappagh  House, 
County  Limerick.  He  stated  that  one  moonlight  night 
he  was  driving  along  the  road  from  Askeaton  to  Lim- 
erick when  he  heard  coming  up  behind  him  the  roll  of 
wheels,  the  clatter  of  horses '  hoofs,  and  the  jingling  of 
the  bits.  He  drew  over  to  his  own  side  to  let  this  car- 
riage pass,  but  nothing  passed.  He  then  looked  back, 
but  could  see  nothing,  the  road  was  perfectly  bare  and 
empty,  though  the  sounds  were  perfectly  audible.  This 
continued  for  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  so,  until  he 
came  to  a  cross-road,  down  one  arm  of  which  he  had  to 
turn.  As  he  turned  off  he  heard  the  phantom  carriage 
dash  by  rapidly  along  the  straight  road.  He  stated 
that  other  persons  had  had  similar  experiences  on  the 
same  road. 


NATURE-SPIRITS  OR  ELEMENT ALS* 
BY  NIZIDA 

"Life  is  one  all-pervading  principle,  and  even  the  thing  that 
seems  to  die  and  putrefy  but  engenders  new  life  and  changes  to 
new  forms  of  matter.  Eeasoning,  then,  by  analogy — if  not  a  leaf, 
if  not  a  drop  of  water,  but  is,  no  less  than  yonder  star,  a  habitable 
and  breathing  world,  common  sense  would  suffice  to  teach  that 
the  circumfluent  Infinite,  which  you  call  space — the  boundless 
Impalpable  which  divides  the  earth  from  the  moon  and  stars — 
is  filled  also  with  its  correspondent  and  appropriate  life." — 
ZANONI. 

WITHIN  the  last  fifty  years  the  human  mind  has 
been  awakening  slowly  to  the  fact  that  there  is  a 
world,  invisible  to  ordinary  powers  of  vision, 
existing  in  close  juxtaposition  to  the  world  cognized  by 
our  material  senses.  This  world,  or  condition  of  ex- 
istence for  more  ethereal  beings,  has  been  variously 
called  Spirit-world,  Summer-land,  Astral-world,  Hades, 
Kama-loca,  or  Desire-world,  etc.  Slowly  and  with  diffi- 
culty do  ideas  upon  the  nature  and  characteristics  of  this 
world  dawn  upon  the  modern  mind.  The  imagination, 
swayed  by  pictures  of  sensuous  life,  revels  in  the  fan- 
tastic imagery  it  attributes  to  this  unknown  and  dimly 
conceived  state  of  existence,  more  often  picturing  what 
is  false  than  what  is  true.  Generally  speaking,  the  most 
crude  conceptions  are  entertained;  these  embrace  but 
two  conditions  of  life,  the  embodied  and  disembodied, 
*  From  Journal  of  Proceedings  of  Theosophicai  Society. 

218 


NATURE-SPIRITS  OE  ELEMENTALS    219 

for  which  there  are  only  the  earth  and  heaven,  or  hell, 
with  that  intermediate  state  accepted  by  Roman  Catho- 
lics, called  purgatory.  There  is,  therefore,  for  such 
minds,  only  two  orders  of  beings,  i.e.,  mankind,  and  an- 
gels or  devils,  categorically  termed  spirits;  but  what 
would  be  the  mode  of  life  of  those  spirits,  is  a  subject 
upon  which  ordinary  intellects  can  throw  no  light  at  all. 
Their  ideas  are  walled  in  by  an  impenetrable  darkness, 
and  not  a  ray  of  light  glimmers  across  the  unfathomable 
gulf  lying  beyond  the  grave ;  that  portal  of  death  which, 
for  them,  opens  upon  unknown  darkness,  and  closes 
upon  the  light,  vivacity,  and  gaiety  of  the  earth. 

The  idea  that  the  beings  we  would  |erm  disembodied 
do  actually  inhabit  bodies  of  an  earial  substance,  invisi- 
ble to  our  grosser  senses,  in  a  world  exactly  suited  to 
their  needs,  surpasses  the  comprehension  of  an  ordinary 
understanding,  which  can  conceive  only  of  gross  matter, 
visible  and  tangible.  Yet  science  begins  to  talk  of  mind- 
stuff,  or  soul-substance,  in  reality  that  ethereal  sub- 
stance which  ranks  next  to  dense  matter,  and  which  it 
wears  as  an  external,  more  hardened  shell.  For  there 
is  space  within  space.  Once  realizing  the  existence  of 
an  inner  world,  we  shall  find  that  all  our  ideas  concern- 
ing space,  time,  and  every  particular  of  our  existence, 
and  the  world  we  live  in  must  become  entirely  revolu- 
tionized. 

The  principal  source  of  knowledge  which  has  been 
opened  in  modern  times  concerning  the  next  state  of 
existence  has  revealed  itself  in  a  manner  homogeneous 
to  itself.  It  has  come  by  an  interior  method — a  revela- 
tion from  within  acting  upon  the  without.  The  inner 
world,  although  always  acting  upon  and  through  its  ex- 


220      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

ternal  covering,  in  a  hidden  or  veiled  way,  as  from  an 
inscrutable  cause,  has  manifested  itself  in  a  manner  more 
overt  and  cognizable  by  the  bodily  senses  of  man.  At 
least  that  which  has  usually  been  termed,  with  more  or 
less  awe,  the  supernatural,  the  ghostly,  has  impinged 
upon  the  mental  incrassation  of  sensual  man  as  a  thing 
to  be  reckoned  with  in  daily  life;  no  longer  to  be  rele- 
gated to  the  region  of  vague  darkness  d' outre  tombe. 
Hence  the  human  mind  is  being  awakened  to  study  and 
dive  'into  the  depths  of  that  life  within  life,  wherein 
dwell  the  disembodied,  the  so-called  dead,  the  angels, 
and,  per  contra,  the  devils.  Those  hidden  aerial  and 
ethereal  regions,  wherein  the  souls  of  things,  and  be- 
ings, draw  life  from  the  bosom  of  nature ;  wherein  they 
find  their  active  habitat;  wherein  nature  keeps  a  store 
of  objects  more  wonderful,  and  infinitely  more  varied, 
than  serve  for  her  regions  of  dense  matter ;  wherein  man 
can  discern  the  occult  causes  and  beginnings  of  all 
things,  even  of  his  own  thoughts;  and  whereupon  be 
learns,  at  length,  that  he  possesses  the  power  of  project- 
ing by  thought-creation  forms  more  or  less  endued  with 
life  and  intelligence,  which  compose  his  mental  world, 
and  with  which  he,  as  it  were,  "peoples  space/'  Be 
finds  the  sphere  of  his  responsibilities  immensely  ea- 
larged  by  this  new  knowledge,  of  which  he  is  taking  the 
first  honeyed  sips,  delighted  with  the  self-importance 
which  the  heretofore  unsuspected  power  of  diving  into 
the  unseen  seems  to  bestow.  If  hitherto  he  has  had  to 
hold  himself  responsible  for  the  consequences  of  his  ex- 
ternal actions,  that  they  should  not  militate  against  the 
order  of  society  as  regards  the  laws  of  morality  and 
virtue,  he  has  at  least  acted  upon  the  impression  that 


NATUEE-SPIEITS  OE  ELEMENTALS    221 

his  secret  thoughts  were  his  own,  and  remained  with 
him,  affecting  no  one  but  himself;  were  incognizable  in 
their  veiled  chambers,  and  of  which  it  was  not  necessary 
to  take  any  notice;  the  transitory,  evanescent,  spon- 
taneous workings  of  mind,  unknown  and  inscrutable, 
which  begin  and  end  like  the  flight  of  a  bird,  whence 
coming  and  where  going  it  is  impossible  to  know. 

By  the  first  faint  gleams  of  the  light  of  hidden  wis- 
dom, which  are  beginning  to  dawn  upon  his  mind,  he 
now  perceives  that  responsibility  does  not  end  upon  the 
plane  of  earth,  but  extends  into  the  aerial  regions  of 
that  inner  world  where  his  thoughts  are  no  longer  secret, 
and  where  they  affect  the  astral  currents,  acting  for  the 
good  or  detriment  of  others  to  almost  infinite  extent; 
that  he  may  act  upon  the  ambient  atmospheres,  not  only 
of  the  outer  but  inner  planes  of  life,  like  a  plant  of 
poisonous  exhalations,  if  his  thoughts  be  not  pure  and 
good;  peopling  unseen  space  with  the  outcome  of  a  de- 
based mind,  in  the  shape  of  hideous  and  maleficent  crea- 
tures. He  becomes  responsible,  therefore,  for  the  conse- 
quences of  his  mental  actions  and  thought-life,  as  well 
as  those  actions  carefully  prepared  to  pass  unchal- 
lenged before  this  world's  gaze. 

Diving  into  the  unseen  by  the  light  of  the  new  spirit- 
ual knowledge  now  radiating  into  all  minds,  we  learn 
that  there~are^fGree  degrees  of  life  in  man,  the  material, 
the  aerial,  and  the  ethereal,  corresponding  to  body,  soul, 
and  spirit;  and  that  there  are  three  corresponding 
planes  of  existence  inhabited  by  beings  suited  to  them. 

The  subject  of  our  paper  will  limit  us  at  present  to 
the  aerial,  or  soul-plane — the  next  contiguous,  or  astral 
world.  The  beings  that  more  especially  live  in  this 


222      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

realm  of  the  soul,  have  by  common  consent  been  termed 
elementals.  Nature  in  illimitable  space  teems  with  life 
in  forms  ethereal,  evanescent  as  thought  itself,  or  more 
objectively  condensed  and  solidified,  according  to  the 
inherent  attraction  which  holds  them  together;  endur- 
ing according  to  the  force,  energy,  or  power  which  gave 
them  birth ;  intelligent,  or  non-intelligent,  from  the  same 
source,  which  is  mental.  These  spirits  of  the  soul-world 
are  possessed  of  aerial  bodies,  and  their  world  has  its 
own  firmament,  its  own  atmosphere  and  conditions  of 
existence,  its  own  objects,  scenes,  habitations.  Yet  their 
world  and  the  world  of  man  intermingle,  interpenetrate, 
and  * '  throw  their  shadows  upon  each  other, ' '  says  Para- 
celsus. Again,  he  says:  "As  there  are  in  our  world 
water  and  fire,  harmonies  and  contrasts,  visible  bodies 
and  invisible  essences,  likewise  these  beings  are  varied 
in  their  constitution,  and  have  their  own  peculiarities, 
for  which  human  beings  have  no  comprehension." 

Matter,  as  known  to  men  in  bodies,  is  seen  and  felt 
by  means  of  the  physical  senses ;  but  to  beings  not  pro- 
vided with  such  senses,  the  things  of  our  world  are  as 
invisible  and  intangible  as  things  of  more  ethereal  sub- 
stance are  to  our  grosser  senses.  Elementals  which  find 
their  habitat  in  the  interior  of  the  earth's  shell,  usually 
called  gnomes,  are  not  conscious  of  the  density  of  the 
element  of  earth  as  we  perceive  it ;  but  breathe  in  a  free 
atmosphere,  and  behold  objects  of  which  we  cannot 
form  the  remotest  conception.  In  like  manner  exist  the 
undines  in  water,  sylphs  in  air,  and  salamanders  in  fire. 
The  elementals  of  the  air,  sylphs,  are  said  to  be  friendly 
towards  man ;  those  of  the  water,  undines,  are  malicious. 
The  salamanders  can,  but  rarely  do,  associate  with  man, 


NATURE-SPIRITS  OR  ELEMENTALS    223 

"on  account  of  the  fiery  nature  of  the  element  they  in- 
habit." The  pigmies  (gnomes)  are  friendly;  but  as 
they  are  the  guardians  of  treasure  they  usually  oppose 
the  approach  of  man,  baffling  by  many  mysterious  arts 
the  selfish  greed  of  seekers  for  buried  wealth.  We,  how- 
ever, read  of  their  alluring  miners  either  by  stroke  of 
pick,  or  hammer,  or  by  floating  lights  to  the  best  mineral 
"leads."  Paracelsus  says  of  these  subterranean  ele- 
mentals  that  they  build  houses,  vaults,  and  strange-look- 
ing edifices  of  certain  immaterial  substances  unknown 
to  us.  "They  have  some  kind  of  alabaster,  marble, 
cement,  etc.,  but  these  substances  are  as  different  from 
ours  as  the  web  of  a  spider  is  different  from  our  linen." 
These  inhabitants  of  the  elements,  or  "nature-spir- 
its," may,  or  may  not  be,  conscious  of  the  existence  of 
man;  oftentimes  feeling  him  merely  as  a  force  which 
propels,  or  arrests  them;  for  by  his  will  and  by  his 
thought,  he  acts  upon  the  astral  currents  of  the  aerial 
world  in  which  they  live ;  and  by  the  use  of  his  hands  he 
sways  the  material  elements  of  earth,  fire,  and  water 
wherein  they  are  established.  They  perceive  the  soul- 
essence  of  man  with  its  ' '  currents  and  forms, ' '  and  they 
also  are  capable  of  reading  such  thoughts  as  do  not 
spiritually  transcend  their  powers  of  discernment.  They 
perceive  the  states  of  feeling  and  emotions  of  men  by  the 
"colors  and  impressions  produced  in  their  auras,"  and 
may  thus  irresistibly  be  drawn  into  overt  action  upon 
man's  plane  of  life.  They  are  the  invisible  stone- 
throwers  we  hear  of  so  frequently,  supposed  to  be  human 
spirits ;  the  perpetrators  of  mischief,  such  as  destruction 
of  property  in  the  habitations  of  men,  noises,  and  mys- 
terious nocturnal  annoyances. 


224      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

Of  all  writers  upon  occult  subjects  to  whose  works  we 
have  as  yet  gained  access,  Paracelsus  throws  the  greatest 
light  upon  these  tricky  sprites  celebrated  in  the  realm 
of  poesy,  and  inhabiting  that  disputed  land  popularly 
termed  fairydom.  From  open  vision,  and  that  wonder- 
ful insight  of  the  master  or  adept  into  the  secrets  of 
nature,  Paracelsus  is  able  to  give  us  the  most  positive 
information  concerning  their  bodily  formation,  the  na- 
ture of  their  existence,  and  other  extraordinary  particu- 
lars, which  proves  that  he  has  actually  seen  and  ob- 
served them,  and  doubtless  also  employed  them  as  the 
obedient  servants  of  his  purified  will;  a  power  into 
which  the  spiritual  man  ascends  by  a  species  of  right, 
when  he  has  thrown  off,  or  conquered,  the  thraldom  of 
matter  in  his  own  body,  and  stands  open-eyed  at  "the 
portals  of  his  deep  within. ' ' 

We  will  quote  certain  extracts  from  the  pages  of  this 
wonderful  interpreter  of  nature.  ' '  There  are  two  kinds 
of  flesh.  One  that  comes  from  Adam,  and  another  that 
does  not  come  from  Adam.  The  former  is  gross  mate- 
rial, visible  and  tangible  for  us;  the  other  one  is  not 
tangible  and  not  made  from  earth.  If  a  man  who  is  a 
descendant  from  Adam  wants  to  pass  through  a  wall, 
he  will  have  first  to  make  a  hole  through  it ;  but  a  being 
who  is.not  descended  from  Adam  needs  no  hole  nor  door, 
but  may  pass  through  matter  that  appears  solid  to  us 
without  causing  any  damage  to  it.  The  beings  not  de- 
scended from  Adam,  as  well  as  those  descended  from 
him,  are  organized  and  have  substantial  bodies;  but 
there  is  as  much  difference  between  the  substance  com- 
posing their  bodies  as  there  is  between  matter  and  spirit. 
Yet  the  elementals  are  not  spirits,  because  they  have 


NATURE-SPIRITS  OR  ELEMENTALS    225 

flesh,  blood,  and  bones;  they  live  and  propagate  off- 
spring ;  they  eat  and  talk,  act  and  sleep,  etc.,  and  conse- 
quently they  cannot  be  properly  called  spirits.  They 
are  beings  occupying  a  place  between  man  and  spirits, 
resembling  men  and  women  in  their  organization  and 
form,  and  resembling  spirits  in  the  rapidity  of  their 
locomotion.  They  are  intermediary  beings  or  compo- 
sita,  formed  out  of  two  parts  joined  into  one;  just  as 
two  colors  mixed  together  will  appear  as  one  color,  re- 
sembling neither  one  nor  the  other  of  the  two  original 
ones.  The  elementals  have  no  higher  principles;  they 
are  therefore  not  immortal,  and  when  they  die  they 
perish  like  animals.  Neither  water  nor  fire  can  injure 
them,  and  they  cannot  be  locked  up  in  our  material 
prisons.  They  are,  however,  subject  to  diseases.  Their 
costumes,  actions,  forms,  ways  of  speaking,*  etc.,  are  not 
very  unlike  those  of  human  beings ;  but  there  are  a  great 
many  varieties.  They  have  only  animal  intellects,  and 
are  incapable  of  spiritual  development. " 

In  saying  the  elementals  have  ' '  no  higher  principles, ' ' 
and  "When  they  die  they  perish  like  animals/'  Paracel- 
sus does  not  stop  to  explain  that  the  higher  principles 
in  them  are  absolutely  latent,  as  in  plants;  and  that 
animals  in  "perishing"  are  not  destroyed,  but  the 
psychical  or  soul-part  of  the  animal  passes,  by  the 
processes  of  evolution,  into  higher  forms. 

"Each  species  moves  only  in  the  element  to  which  it 
belongs,  and  neither  of  them  can  go  out  of  its  apprr>- 
priate  element,  which  is  to  them  as  the  air  is  to  us,  or 
the  water  to  fishes ;  and  none  of  them  can  live  in  the  ele- 
ment belonging  to  another  class.  To  each  elemental  be- 
ing the  element  in  which  it  lives  is  transparent,  invisi- 


226       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

ble,  and  respirable,  as  the  atmosphere  is  to  ourselves. " 

* '  As  far  as  the  personalities  of  the  elementals  are  con- 
cerned, it  may  be  said  that  those  belonging  to  the  ele- 
ment of  water  resemble  human  beings  of  either  sex; 
those  of  the  air  are  greater  and  stronger;  the  salaman- 
ders are  long,  lean,  and  dry;  the  pigmies  (gnomes)  are 
the  length  of  about  two  spans,  but  they  may  extend  or 
elongate  their  forms  until  they  appear  like  giants. 

"Nymphs  (undines,  or  naiads)  have  their  residences 
and  palaces  in  the  element  of  water;  sylphs  and  sala- 
manders have  no  fixed  dwellings.  Salamanders  have 
been  seen  in  the  shape  of  fiery  balls,  or  tongues  of  fire 
running  over  the  fields  or  appearing  in  houses;"  or  at 
psychical  seances  as  starry  lights,  darting  and  dancing 
about. 

"There  are  certain  localities  where  large  numbers  of 
elementals  live  together,  and  it  has  occurred  that  a  man 
has  been  admitted  into  their  communities  and  lived  with 
them  for  a  while,  and  that  they  have  become  visible  and 
tangible  to  him." 

Poets,  in  their  moments  of  exaltation,  have  an  uncon- 
scious soul-vision  before  which  nature's  invisible  worlds 
lie  like  an  open  volume,  and  they  translate  her  secrets 
into  language  of  mystic  meanings  whose  harmonies  are 
re-interpreted  by  sympathetic  minds.  The  poet  Hogg, 
in  his  Rapture  of  Kilmeny,  would  seem  to  have  had 
a  vision  of  some  such  visit  as  that  described  above,  into 
the  fairyland  of  pure,  peaceful  elementals. 

"Bonny  Kilmeny  gaed  up  the  glen" — and  is  repre- 
sented as  having  fallen  asleep.  During  this  sleep  she  is 
transported  to  "a  far  countrye,"  whose  gentle,  lovely 
inhabitants  receive  her  with  delight.  The  following 


NATUEE-SPIEITS  OB  ELEMENTALS    227 

lines  reveal  the  poet's  power  of  inner  vision,  as  will  be 
seen  by  the  words  italicized.  They  are  in  wonderful 
accord  with  the  descriptions  given  by  Paracelsus  from 
the  actual  observation  of  a  conscious  seer: 

"They  lifted  Kilmeny,  they  led  her  away, 
And  she  walk'd  in  the  light  of  a  sunless  day; 
The  sky  was  a  dome  of  crystal  bright, 
The  fountain  of  vision  and  fountain  of  light; 
The  emerald  fields  were  of  dazzling  glow, 
And  the  flowers  of  everlasting  blow." 

It  needs  but  a  brushing  away  of  the  films  of  flesh, 
which  occurs  in  moments  of  rapt  inspiration,  for  the 
soul,  escaping  from  its  prison-house,  to  revel  in  the  in- 
nocent, peaceful  scenes  of  its  own  inner  world,  and  give 
a  true  description  of  what  it  beholds.  The  inner  mean- 
ings of  things,  the  symbolical  correspondences  are  re- 
vealed in  a  flash  of  light,  and  the  poet-soul  becomes 
revelator  and  prophet  all  in  one.  He  sets  it  down  to 
imagination  and  fancy,  when  he  returns  into  his  normal 
state,  and  it  is  what  we  call  "a  flight  of  genius" — the 
power  of  the  soul  to  enter  its  own  appropriate  world. 
Certainly  les  ames  de  boue  have  no  such  power.  It  is, 
however,  a  proof  that  world  exists,  if  we  will  but  under- 
stand it  aright. 

There  has  never  existed  a  poet  with  a  truer  concep- 
tion of  "elemental"  life  than  Shakespeare.  What  more 
exquisite  creation  of  the  poet's  fancy,  which  might  b,e 
every  word  of  it  true,  for  in  no  particular  does  it  sur- 
pass the  truth,  than  that  of  Ariel,  whom  the  ' '  foul  witch 
Sycorax,"  "by  help  of  her  more  potent  ministers,  and 


228       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

in  her  most  unmitigable  rage,"  did  confine  "into  a 
cloven  pine;"  for  Ariel,  the  good  elemental,  was  "a 
spirit  too  delicate  to  act  her  earthly  and  abhorred  com- 
mands." When  Prospero,  the  Adept  and  White  Magi- 
cian, arrived  upon  the  scene,  by  his  superior  art  he 
liberated  the  delicate  Ariel,  who  afterwards  becomes  his 
ministering  servant  for  good,  not  for  evil. 

In  the  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,,  Titania  trans- 
ports a  human  child  into  her  elemental  world,  where 
she  keeps  him  with  so  jealous  a  love  as  to  refuse  to  yield 
him  even  to  her  ''fairy  lord,"  as  Puck  calls  him.  Puck 
himself  is  almost  as  exquisite  a  realization  of  elemental 
life  as  Ariel.  As  Shakespeare  unfolds  the  lovely,  inno- 
cent tale  of  the  occupations,  sports  and  pranks  of  this 
aerial  people,  he  introduces  us  to  the  elementals  of  his 
own  beautiful  thought  world;  and,  although  indulging 
in  the  ' '  sports  of  fancy, ' '  there  is  so  broad  a  foundation 
of  truth,  that,  being  enlightened  by  the  revelations  of 
Paracelsus,  we  no  longer  think  we  are  merely  enter- 
tained by  the  poetical  inventions  of  a  master  of  his  art, 
but  may  well  believe  we  have  been  witnesses  of  a  charm- 
ing reality  beheld  through  the  "rift  in  the  veil"  of  the 
poet 's  unconscious  inner  sight.  Indeed,  one  of  the  tenets 
of  occult  science  is  that  there  is  nothing  on  earth,  nor 
that  the  mind  of  man  can  conceive,  which  is  not  already 
existent  in  the  unseen  world. 

We  reflect  in  the  translucence,  or  diaphane  of  our 
mental  world  those  concrete  images  of  things  which  we 
attract  by  the  irresistible  magnetism  of  desire  working 
through  the  thought.  It  is  a  spontaneous,  unconscious 
mental  process  with  us;  but  there  is  no  reason  why  it 
should  not  become  a  perfectly  conscious  process  regu- 


NATURE-SPIRITS  OR  ELEMENTALS    229 

lated  by  a  divine  wisdom  to  functions  of  harmony  with 
nature's  laws,  and  to  productions  of  beauty  and  benefi- 
cence for  the  good  of  the  whole  world.  As  the  world 
is  the  concreted  emanation  of  divine  thought,  so  it  is  by 
thought  that  man,  the  microcosm,  creates  upon  his  petty, 
finite  plane.  Given  the  desire — even  if  it  be  only  as  the 
lightest  breath  of  a  summer  zephyr  upon  the  sleeping 
bosom  of  the  ocean,  scarcely  ruffling  its  surface — it  be- 
comes a  center  of  attraction  for  suitable  molecules  of 
thought-substance  floating  in  space,  which  immediately 
"agglomerate  round  the  idea  proceeding  to  reveal  itself," 
J)y  means  of  clothing  itself  in  substance.  By  these  si- 
lent processes  in  the  invisible  world  wherein  our  souls 
draw  the  breath  of  life,  we  form  our  mental  world, 
our  personal  character,  even  our  very  physical  bodies. 
The  perisprit,  or  astral  body,  the  vehicle  for  formless 
spirit,  is  essentially  builded  up  from  the  mental  life,  and 
grows  by  the  accretion  of  those  atoms  or  molecules  of 
thought-substance  which  are  assimilable  by  the  mind. 
Hence  a  good  man,  a  man  of  lofty  aspirations,  forms,  as 
the  nearest  external  clothing  of  his  inner  spirit,  a  beau- 
tiful soul-body,  which  irradiates  through  and  beautifies 
the  physical  body.  The  man  of  low  and  groveling  mind 
will,  on  the  contrary,  attract  the  depraved  and  poisoned 
substances  of  the  lower  astral  world;  the  malarial 
emanations  thrown  off  by  other  equally  depraved  be- 
ings, by  which  his  mind  becomes  embruted,  his  soul  dis- 
eased, whilst  his  physical  form  presents  in  a  concrete 
image  the  ugliness  of  his  inner  nature.  Such  a  man 
never  ascends  above  the  dense,  mephitic  vapors  of  the 
sin-laden  world,  nor  takes  into  his  soul  the  slightest 
breath  of  pure,  vitalizing  air.  He  is  diseased  by  in- 


230      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

visible  astral  microbes,  being  most  effectually  self- 
inoculated  with  them  by  the  operation  of  desires  which 
never  transcend  the  earth.  Did  we  lift  the  veil  which 
shrouds  from  mortal  sight  the  elemental  world  of  such 
a  moral  pervert,  we  should  behold  a  world  teeming  with 
hideous  forms,  and  as  actively  working  as  the  bacteria 
of  fermentation  revealed  by  a  powerful  microscope, 
elementals  of  destruction,  death,  and  decay,  which  must 
pass  out  into  other  forms  for  the  purification  of  the 
spiritual  atmosphere;  creatures  produced  by  the  man's 
own  thoughts,  living  upon  and  in  him,  and  reflecting, 
like  mirrors,  his  hideousness  back  again  to  himself.  It 
is  from  the  presence  of  innumerable  foci  of  evil  of  this 
kind  that  the  world  is  befouled,  and  the  moral  atmos- 
phere of  our  planet  tainted.  They  emit  poisoned  astral 
currents,  from  which  none  are  safe  but  those  who  are 
in  the  positive  condition  of  perfect  moral  health. 

From  the  fountain  of  life  we  draw  in  the  materials 
of  life,  and  become,  upon  our  lower  plane,  other  living 
fountains,  which  from  liberty  of  choice,  and  freedom  of 
will,  have  the  power  of  so  muddying  the  pure  stream, 
that  in  its  turbidness  and  foulness  it  becomes  death  in- 
stead of  life,  and  produces  hell  instead  of  heaven. 
When  we,  by  self -purification,  and  that  constant  mental 
discipline  which  trains  us  upwards,  clinging  to  our 
highest  ideal  by  the  tendrils  of  faith,  and  love,  and  con- 
tinual aspiration,  as  the  vine  would  cling  to  a  rock — 
have  eliminated  all  that  is  impure  in  our  thought  world, 
we  become  fountains  of  life,  and  make  our  own  heavens, 
wherein  are  reflected  only  images  of  divine  beauty. 
The  whole  elemental  world  on  our  immediate  astral 
plane  becomes  gradually  transformed  during  the  prog- 


NATURE-SPIEITS  OR  ELEMENTALS    231 

ress  of  our  evolution  into  the  higher  spiritual  grades  of 
being.  And  as  humanity  en  masse  advances,  throwing 
off  the  moral  and  spiritual  deformity  of  the  selfish, 
ignorant  ego,  the  astral  atmospheres  belonging  to  our 
planet  world  become  filled  with  elementals  of  a  peaceful, 
loving  character,  of  beautiful  forms,  and  of  beneficent 
influences.  The  currents  of  evil  force  which  now  act 
with  a  continually  jarring  effect  upon  those  striving 
to  maintain  the  equilibrium  of  harmony  with  nature 
upon  the  side  of  good,  would  cease.  That  depression, 
agitation,  and  distress  which  now,  from  inscrutable 
causes,  assail  minds  otherwise  rejoicing  in  an  innocent 
happiness,  forewarning  them  of  some  impending  ca- 
lamity, or  of  some  evil  presence  it  seems  impossible  to 
shake  off,  would  become  unknown.  The  horrible  demons 
of  war,  with  which  humanity,  in  its  sinful  state  of 
separateness,  is  continually  threatening  itself — as  if  the 
members  of  one  body  were  self-opposed,  and  revolting 
from  that  state  of  agreement  that  can  alone  ensure 
the  well-being  of  the  whole — would  no  longer  be  held, 
like  ravenous  bloodhounds  chafing  against  their  leashes, 
ready  to  spring,  at  a  word,  upon  their  hellish  work; 
but  they  will  have  passed  away,  like  other  hideous  de- 
formities of  evil;  and  the  serene  astral  atmospheres 
would  no  longer  reflect  ideas  of  cruel  wrongs  to  fellow- 
beings,  revenge,  lust  of  power,  injustice,  and  ruthless 
hatred.  We  are  taught  that  around  an  "idea"  agglom- 
erate the  suitable  molecules  of  soul-substance — "Mo- 
nads," as  Leibnitz  terms  them,  until  a  concrete  form 
stands  created,  the  production  of  a  mind,  or  minds. 
All  the  hideous  man-created  beings,  powers  or  forces, 
which  now  act  like  ravaging  pestilences  and  storms  in 


232       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

the  astral  atmospheres  of  our  planet  will  have  disap- 
peared like  the  monstrous  phantoms  of  a  frightful 
dream,  when  the  whole  of  humanity  has  progressed  into 
a  state  of  higher  spiritual  evolution.  It  is  well  to  reflect 
that  each  individual,  however  humble  and  apparently 
insignificant  his  position  in  the  great  human  family,  can 
aid  by  his  life,  by  the  silent  emanation  of  his  pure  and 
wise  thoughts,  as  well  as  by  his  active  labors  for  hu- 
manity, in  bringing  nearer  this  halcyon  period  of  peace, 
harmony,  and  purity — that  millennium,  in  short,  we  are 
all  looking  forward  to,  as  a  dream  we  can  never  hope 
to  see  realized. 

In  Mam:  Fragments  of  Forgotten  History,  we  read: 
"Violence  was  the  most  baneful  manifestation  of  man's 
spiritual  decadence,  and  it  rebounded  upon  him  from 
the  elemental  beings,  whom  it  was  his  duty  to  develop" 
— those  sub-mundanes,  towards  whom  man  is  now  learn- 
ing that  he  incurs  responsibilities  of  which  he  is  at 
present  utterly  unconscious,  but  of  which  he  will  indubi- 
tably become  more  and  more  aware  as  he  ascends  the 
ladder  of  spiritual  evolution. 

To  continue  our  extract  from  Fragments.  "When 
this  duty  was  ignored,  and  the  separation  of  interests 
was  accentuated,  the  natural  man  forcibly  realized  an 
antagonism  with  the  elemental  spirits.  As  violence 
increased  in  man,  these  spirits  waxed  strong  in  their 
way,  and,  true  to  their  natures,  which  had  been  out- 
raged by  the  neglect  of  those  who  were  in  a  sense  their 
guardians,  they  automatically  responded  with  resent- 
ment. No  longer  could  man  rely  upon  the  power  of 
love  or  harmony  to  guide  others,  because  he  himself  had 
ceased  to  be  impelled  solely  by  its  influence;  distrust 


NATURE-SPIRITS  OR  ELEMENTALS    233 

had  marred  the  symmetry  of  his  inner  self,  and  beings 
who  could  not  perceive  but  only  receive  impressions  pro- 
jected towards  them,  quickly  adapted  themselves  to  the 
altered  conditions."  (Elementals  as  forces,  respond  to 
forces,  or  are  swayed  by  them;  man,  as  a  superior 
force,  acts  upon  them,  therefore,  injuriously,  or  bene- 
ficially, and  they  in  their  turn,  poisoned  by  his  baleful 
influence,  when  he  is  depraved,  become  injurious  forces 
to  him  by  the  laws  of  reaction.)  "At  once  nature  itself 
took  on  the  changed  expression;  and  where  all  before 
was  gladness  and  freshness  there  were  now  indications 
of  sorrow  and  decay.  Atmospheric  influences  hitherto 
unrecognized  began  to  be  noted;  there  was  felt  a  chill 
in  the  morning,  a  dearth  of  magnetic  heat  at  noon-tide, 
and  a  universal  deadness  at  the  approach  of  night, 
which  began  to  be  looked  upon  with  alarm.  For  a 
change  in  the  object  must  accompany  every  change  in 
the  subject.  Until  this  point  was  reached  there  was 
nothing  to  make  man  afraid  of  himself  and  his  sur- 
roundings. 

"And  as  he  plunged  deeper  and  deeper  into  matter, 
he  lost  his  consciousness  of  the  subtler  forms  of  exist- 
ence, and  attributed  all  the  antagonism  he  experienced 
to  unknown  causes.  The  conflict  continued  to  wax 
stronger,  and,  in  consequence  of  his  ignorance,  man  fell 
a  readier  victim.  There  were  exceptions  among  the  race 
then,  as  there  are  now,  whose  finer  perceptive  faculties 
outgrew,  or  kept  ahead,  of  the  advancing  materializa- 
tion ;  and  they  alone,  in  course  of  events,  could  feel  and 
recognize  the  influences  of  these  earliest  progeny  of  the 
earth. 


234       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

"Time  came  when  an  occasional  appearance  was 
viewed  with  alarm,  and  was  thought  to  be  an  omen  of 
evil.  Recognizing  this  fear  on  the  part  of  man,  the 
elementals  ultimately  came  to  realize  for  him  the 
dangers  he  apprehended,  and  they  banded  together  to 
terrify  him."  (They  reflected  back  to  him  his  own 
fears  in  a  concrete  form,  sufficiently  intelligent,  per- 
haps, to  take  some  malicious  pleasure  in  it,  for  man  in 
propelling  into  space  a  force  of  any  kind  is  met  by  a 
reactionary  force,  which  seems  to  give  exactly  what 
his  mind  foreshadowed.  In  the  negative  coldness  of 
fear,  he  lays  himself  open  to  infesting  molecules  or 
atoms  which  paralyze  life,  and  he  falls  a  vicitim  to  his 
own  lack  of  faith,  cheerful  courage  and  hope.)  "They 
found  strong  allies  in  an  order  of  existence  which  was 
generated  when  physical  death  made  its  appearance'7 
(i.e.,  elementaries,  or  shells) ;  "and  their  combined 
forces  began  to  manifest  themselves  at  night,  for  which 
man  had  a  dread  as  being  the  enemy  of  his  protector, 
the  sun.* 

"The  elementaries  galvanized  into  activity  by  the 
elemental  beings  began  to  appear  to  man  under  as  many 
varieties  of  shape  as  his  hopes  and  fears  allowed.  And 
as  his  ignorance  of  things  spiritual  became  denser,  these 
agencies  brought  in  an  influx  of  error,  which  accelerated 
his  spiritual  degeneration.  Thus,  it  will  be  seen  that 
man's  neglect  of  his  duty  to  the  nature-spirits  is  the 
cause  which  has  launched  him  into  a  sea  of  troubles, 
that  has  shipwrecked  so  many  generations  of  his 
descendants.  Famines,  plagues,  wars,  and  other  catas- 
trophes are  not  so  disconnected  with  the  agency  of 

*Fragments  of  Forgotten  History. 


NATUBE-SPIBITS:  OB  ELEMENTALS   235 

nature-spirits  as  it  might  appear  to  the  sceptical 
mind."* 

It  is  therefore  evident  that  the  world  of  man  exercises 
a  controlling  power  over  this  invisible  world  of  ele- 
mentals.  Even  in  the  most  remote  and  inaccessible 
haunts  of  nature,  where  we  may  imagine  halcyon  days 
of  an  innocent  bliss  elapsing  in  poetic  peace  and  beauty 
for  the  more  harmless  of  these  irresponsible,  evanescent 
offspring  of  nature's  teeming  bosom,  they  must  inevita- 
bly, sooner  or  later,  yield  up  their  peaceful  sovereignty 
to  the  greater  monarch,  man,  who  usually  comes  with 
a  harsh  and  discordant  influence,  like  the  burning- 
sirocco  of  the  desert,  like  the  overwhelming  avalanche 
from  the  silent  peaks  of  snow,  or  the  earthquake,  con- 
vulsing and  tearing  to  atoms  the  beauty  of  gardens, 
palaces,  cities.  It  is  said  that  elementals  die;  it  is  pre- 
sumable that  at  such  times  they  die  by  myriads,  when 
the  whole  surface  of  the  earth  becomes  changed  from 
the  unavoidable  passing  away  of  nature's  wildernesses, 
the  peaceful  homes  of  bird  and  beast,  as  the  improving, 
commercial,  money-grasping  man — that  contradiction  of 
God,  that  industrious  destroyer,  who  lives  at  war  with 
beauty,  peace,  and  goodness — appears  upon  the  scene. 
These  may  be  called  poetical  rhapsodies;  yet  poetry  is, 
in  a  mysterious  way,  closely  allied  to  that  hidden  truth 
which  has  its  birth  on  the  soul-plane,  and  the  imagina- 
tion of  man  is,  according  to  Eliphas  Levi,  a  clairvoyant 
and  magical  faculty — "the  wand  of  the  magician." 

To  speak  of  elementals  dying,  is  to  use  a  word  which 
expresses  for  us  change  of  condition;  the  passing  from 
one  sphere  of  life  to  another,  or  from  one  plane  of  con- 

*  Fragments  of  Forgotten  History. 


236       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

sciousness  to  another.  This  to  the  sensual  man  is 
' '  death. ' '  But  there  is  no  death — it  is  merely  a  passing 
from  one  phase  of  existence  to  another.  Hence  the  ele- 
mentals  lose  the  forms  they  once  held,  changing  their 
plane  of  consciousness,  and  appearing  in  other  forms. 

We  have  shown  somewhat  of  the  mysterious  way  in 
which  man  acts  upon  these  invisible  denizens  of  his 
soul-world,  and  by  which  he  incurs  a  certain  responsi- 
bility. By  the  dynamic  power  of  thought  and  will  it  is 
done — as  everything  is  done.  The  elementals  pushed 
by  man,  as  by  a  superior  force,  off  that  equilibrium  of 
harmony  with  pure,  innocent  nature,  which  they  orig- 
inally maintained  when  our  planet  was  young,  have  been 
transformed  into  powers  of  evil,  which  man  brings  upon 
himself  as  retribution — the  reaction  of  that  force  he 
ignorantly  sets  in  motion  when  he  breaks  the  beneficent 
laws  of  nature.  Originally  dependent  upon  him,  and 
capable  of  aiding  him  in  a  thousand  ways  when  he  is 
wise  and  good,  they  have  become  his  enemies,  who 
thwart  him  at  every  turn,  and  guard  the  secrets  of  their 
abodes  with  none  the  less  implacable  sternness  because 
they  are  probably  only  semi-conscious  of  the  functions 
they  perform.  It  is  nature  acting  through  them — 
the  great  cosmic  consciousness,  which  forbids  that  dese- 
crating footsteps  shall  invade  the  holy  precincts  of  her 
stupendous  life-secrets.  But  to  the  spiritual  man — the 
god — these  secrets  open  of  themselves,  like  a  hand  laden 
with  gifts,  readily  unclosing  to  a  favorite  and  deserving 
child. 

Giving  forth  a  current  of  evil,  and  sinking  therefrom 
into  a  state  of  bestial  ignorance,  man  has  enveloped  him- 
self in  clouds  of  darkness  which  assume  monstrous 


NATUBE-SPIRITS  OR  ELEMENTALS  237 

shapes  threatening  to  overwhelm  him.  A  wicked  man 
is  generally  a  coward  because  he  lives  in  a  state  of  per- 
petual dread  of  the  reactionary  effect  of  the  evil  forces 
he  has  set  in  motion.  These  are  volumes  of  elemental 
forms  banded  together,  and  swaying  like  the  thunder- 
clouds of  a  gathering  storm. 

To  disperse  these,  his  own  spiritual  mind  must  ray 
forth  the  light  reflected  from  the  source  of  light — omni- 
science. In  the  astral  atmospheres  of  the  spiritual  man, 
there  are  no  clouds,  and  fear  is  unknown.  In  the  mental 
world  of  the  innocent  and  pure,  those  are  only  forms 
of  gracious  beauty,  as  lovely  as  the  shapes  of  nature's 
innocent  embryons,  which  reveal  themselves  in  the 
forests,  the  running  streams,  the  floating  breeze,  and  in 
company  with  the  birds  and  flowers,  to  the  clairvoyant 
sight  of  those  nature-lovers  before  whom  she  withdraws 
her  veils,  communing  with  their  souls  by  an  intuitional 
speech  which  fills  them  with  rapturous  admiration.  It 
is  not  only  the  learned  scientist  who  may  read  nature's 
marvelous  revelations;  for  she  whispers  them  with  ma- 
ternal tenderness  into  the  open  ears  of  babes,  where 
they  r$giain  ever  safe  from  desecration,  and  are 
cherished  as  the  soul's  innocent  delights  in  hours  of 
isolation  from  the  busy,  jarring  world. 

The  spiritual  soul  is  ever  looking  beneath  nature's 
material  veils  for  correspondences.  Every  natural  object 
means  something  else  to  such  penetrating  vision — a 
vision  which  begins  to  be  spontaneously  exercised  by  the 
soul  when  it  has  fairly  reached  that  stage  of  spiritual 
evolution;  and  to  this  silent  exploration  many  a  secret 
meaning  reveals  itself  by  object-pictures,  which  awaken 
reflection  and  inquiry  as  to  the  why  and  where- 


238       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

fore.  Thus  the  spiritual  man  drinks,  as  it  were,  from 
nature's  own  hand  the  pure  waters  of  an  inexhaustible 
spring — that  occult  knowledge  which  feeds  his  soul,  and 
aids  in  forming  for  him  a  beautiful  and  powerful  astral 
body.  And  nature  becomes  invested  to  his  penetrating 
sight  with  a  beauty  she  never  wore  before,  and  which 
the  clay-blinded  eyes  of  animal  man  can  never  behold. 
Such  a  man  would  enter  the  isolated  haunts  of  the 
purer  nature-spirits  with  gentle  footsteps,  and  loving 
thoughts.  To  him  the  breeze  is  wafted  wooingly,  the 
streams  whisper  music,  and  everything  wears  an  aspect 
of  loving  joyousness,  and  inviting  confidence.  Beside 
the  rigid  material  forms,  he  sees  their  aromal  counter- 
parts; everything  is  life;  the  very  stones  live,  and  have 
a  consciousness  suited  to  their  state;  and  he  feels  as  if 
every  atom  of  his  own  body  vibrated  in  unison  with  the 
living  things  about  him — as  if  all  were  one  flesh.  To 
injure  a  single  thing  would  be  impossible  to  him.  Such 
is  the  soul-condition  of  the  perfect  man,  to  whom  evil 
has  become  impossible. 

An  adept  has  written — "  Every  thought  of  man  upon 
being  evolved  passes  into  another  world  and  becomes 
an  active  entity  by  associating  itself — coalescing,  we 
might  term  it — with  an  elemental;  that  is  to  say,  with 
one  of  the  semi-intelligent  forces  of  the  kingdoms.  It 
survives  as  an  active  intelligence — a  creature  of  the 
mind's  begetting — for  a  longer  or  shorter  period,  pro- 
portionate with  the  original  intensity  of  the  cerebral 
action  which  generated  it.  Thus,  a  good  thought  is 
perpetuated  as  an  active,  beneficent  power,  an  evil  one 
as  a  maleficent  demon.  And  so  man  is  continually 
peopling  his  current  in  space  with  the  offspring  of  his 


NATURE-SPIRITS  OR  ELEMENTALS    239 

fancies,  desires,  impulses,  and  passions ;  a  current  which 
re-acts  upon  any  sensitive  or  nervous  organization  which 
comes  in  contact  with  it,  in  proportion  to  its  dynamic 
intensity.  The  adept  evolves  these  shapes  consciously, 
other  men  throw  them  off  unconsciously." 

Therefore,  man  must  be  held  responsible  not  only  for 
his  outward  actions,  but  his  secret  thoughts,  by  which 
he  puts  into  existence  irresponsible  entities  of  more  or 
less  maleficent  power,  if  his  thoughts  be  of  an  evil 
nature.  These  are  revelations  of  a  deep  and  abstruse 
character;  but  would  they  have  come  at  all  if  man  had 
not  reached  that  stage  of  evolution  when  it  is  necessary 
he  should  step  up  into  his  spiritual  kingdom,  and  rule 
as  a  master  over  his  lower  self,  and  as  a  beneficent  god 
over  every  department  of  unintelligent  nature  ? 

We  note  the  closing  words  of  the  adept 's  letter :  c  '  The 
adept  evolves  these  shapes  consciously,  other  men  throw 
them  off  unconsciously."  In  the  adept's  soul- world  then 
— the  man  who  has  ascended,  by  self-conquest  primarily, 
into  his  spiritual  kingdom,  and  who  has  graduated 
through  years  of  probation  and  study  in  spiritual  or 
occult  science — i.e.,  the  White  Magician,  the  Son  of  God, 
the  inheritor  by  spiritual  evolution,  of  divinity — there 
would  reign  peace,  happiness,  beauty,  order,  absolute 
harmony  with  nature  on  the  side  of  good.  No  dis- 
cordant note,  no  deformed  astral  production  to  em- 
barrass or  obstruct  the  current  of  divine  magnetism  he 
emanates  into  space — the  delicious,  soul-purifying,  heal- 
ing, and  uplifting  aura  which  radiates  from  him  as 
from  a  center  of  beneficence  to  the  lower  world  of 
struggling  humanity.  The  semi-intelligent  forces  of 
nature,  the  innocent  nature  spirits  would  in  such  a 


240      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

soul-world,  find  an  appropriate  and  harmonious  habitat, 
clustering  in  waiting  obedience  upon  the  behests  of  a 
master  whose  every  thought-breath  would  be  as  an  up- 
lifting life. 

To  such  a  state  and  condition  of  complete  harmony 
with  God  and  nature  must  the  truly  perfect  spiritual 
man  ascend  by  evolution. 


THE  DIFFERENCE  BETWEEN  ELEMENTALS  AND 
ELEMENTARIES 

From  the  similarity  of  the  terms  used  to  designate 
two  classes  of  astral  beings  who  are  able  to  communicate 
with  man,  a  certain  confusion  has  arisen  in  the  public 
mind,  which  it  would  be  as  well,  perhaps,  to  aid  in 
removing. 

Elementals  is  a  term  applied  to  the  nature  spirits, 
the  living  existences  which  belong  peculiarly  to  the  ele- 
ments they  inhabit;  "beings  of  the  mysteria  specialia," 
according  to  Paracelsus,  "soul-forms,  which  will  return 
into  their  chaos,  and  who  are  not  capable  of  manifesting 
any  higher  spiritual  activity  because  they  do  not  possess 
the  necessary  kind  of  constitution  in  which  an  activity 
of  a  spiritual  character  can  manifest  itself.  .  .  .  Matter 
is  connected  with  spirit  by  an  intermediate  principle 
which  it  receives  from  this  spirit.  This  intermediate 
link  between  matter  and  spirit  belongs  to  all  the  three 
kingdoms  of  nature.  In  the  mineral  kingdom  it  is 
called  Stannar,  or  Trughatj  in  the  vegetable  kingdom, 


NATUBE-SPIRITS  OR  ELEMBNTALS    241 

Jaffas;  and  it  forms  in  connection  with  the  vital  force 
of  the  vegetable  kingdom,  the  Primum  Ens,  which  pos- 
sesses the  highest  medicinal  properties.  ...  In  the  ani- 
mal kingdom,  this  semi-material  body  is  called  Eve- 
strum,  and  in  human  beings  it  is  called  the  Sidereal  Man. 
Each  living  being  is  connected  with  the  Macrocosmos 
and  Microcosmos  by  means  of  this  intermediate  element 
of  soul,  belonging  to  the  Mysterium  Magnum  from 
whence  it  has  been  received,  and  whose  form  and  quali- 
ties are  determined  by  the  quality  and  quantity  of  the 
spiritual  and  material  elements."  From  this  we  may 
infer  that  the  Elementals,  properly  speaking,  are  the 
Soul-forms  of  the  elements  they  inhabit — the  activities 
and  energies  of  the  world-soul  differentiated  into  forms, 
endowed  with  more  or  less  consciousness  and  capacities 
for  feeling,  and  hours  of  enjoyment,  or  pain.  But  these, 
never  or  rarely,  entering  any  more  deeply  into  dense 
matter  than  enabled  so  to  do  by  their  aerial  invisible 
bodies,  do  not  appear  upon  our  gross  physical  plane 
otherwise  than  as  forces,  energies,  or  influences.  Their 
soul-forms  are  the  intermediate  link  between  matter 
and  spirit,  resembling  the  soul-forms  of  animals  and 
men,  which  also  form  this  intermediate  link,  the  dif- 
ference being  that  the  souls  of  animals  and  men  have 
enveloped  themselves  in  a  casing  of  dense  matter  for  the 
purposes  of  existence  upon  the  more  external  planes 
of  life.  C  Consequently,  after  the  death  of  the  external 
bodies  of  men  and  animals,  there  remain  astral  rem- 
nants which  undergo  gradual  disintegration  in  the  astral 
atmospheres.  ;  These  have  been  termed  elementaries ; 
i.e.,  "the  astral  corpses  of  the  dead;  the  ethereal  coun- 
terpart of  the  once  living  person,  which  will  sooner  or 


242      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

later  be  decomposed  into  its  astral  elements,  as  the 
physical  body  is  dissolved  into  the  elements  to  which 
it  belongs.  The  elementaries  of  good  people  have  little 
cohesion  and  evaporate  soon;  those  of  wicked  people 
may  exist  a  long  time;  those  of  suicides,  etc.,  have  a 
life  and  consciousness  of  their  own  as  long  as  a  division 
of  principles  has  not  taken  place.  These  are  the  most 
dangerous. ' ' 

In  the  introduction  to  /sis  Unveiled,  we  find  the 
following  definition  of  elemental  spirits: 

1 '  The  creatures  evolved  in  the  four  kingdoms  of  earth, 
air,  fire,  and  water,  and  called  by  the  Kabalists  gnomes, 
sylphs,  salamanders,  and  undines.  They  may  be  termed 
the  forces  of  nature,  and  will  either  operate  effects  as 
the  servile  agents  of  general  law,  or  may  be  employed 
by  the  disembodied  spirits — whether  pure  or  impure — 
and  by  living  adepts  of  magic  and  sorcery,  tc  produce 
desired  phenomenal  results.  Such  beings  never  become 
men."  (But  there  are  classes  of  elemental  spirits  who 
do  become  men,  as  we  shall  see  further  on.) 

11  Under  the  general  designation  of  fairies  and  fays, 
these  spirits  of  the  elements  appear  in  the  myth,  fable, 
tradition,  and  poetry  of  all  nations,  ancient  and  modern. 
Their  names  are  legion — peris,  devs,  djins,  sy Ivans, 
satyrs,  fawns,  elves,  dwarfs,  trolls,  kobolds,  brownies, 
stromkarls,  undines,  nixies,  salamanders,  goblins,  ban- 
shees, kelpies,  prixies,  moss  people,  good  people,  good 
neighbors,  wild  women,  men  of  peace,  white  ladies,  and 
many  more.  They  have  been  seen,  feared,  blessed, 
banned,  and  invoked  in  every  quarter  of  the  globe  and 
in  every  age.  These  elementals  are  the  principal  agents 
of  disembodied  but  never  visible  spirits  at  seances,  and 


NATURE-SPIBITS  OB  ELEMENTALS    243 

the  producers  of  all  the  phenomena  except  the  'sub- 
jective.' " — (Preface  xxix,  vol.  I.) 

"In  the  Jewish  Kabala  the  nature  spirits  were  known 
under  the  general  name  of  Shedim,  and  divided  into 
four  classes.  The  Persians  called  them  devs;  the  Greeks 
indistinctly  designated  them  as  demons;  the  Egyptians 
knew  them  as  afrites.  The  ancient  Mexicans,  says 
Kaiser,  believed  in  numerous  spirit-abodes,  into  one  of 
which  the  shades  of  innocent  children  were  placed  until 
final  disposal ;  into  another,  situated  in  the  sun,  ascended 
the  valiant  souls  of  heroes;  while  the  hideous  specters 
of  incorrigible  sinners  were  sentenced  to  wander  and 
despair  in  subterranean  caves,  held  in  the  bonds  of  the 
earth-atmosphere,  unwilling  and  unable  to  liberate 
themselves.  They  passed  their  time  in  communicating 
with  mortals,  and  frightening  those  who  could  see  them. 
Some  of  the  African  tribes  know  them  as  Yowahoos." — 
(P.  313,  vol.  I.) 

Of  the  ideas  of  Proclus  on  this  subject  it  is  said  in 
I  sis  Unveiled: 

"He  held  that  the  four  elements  are  all  filled  with 
demons,  maintaining  with  Aristotle  that  the  uni- 
verse is  full,  and  that  there  is  no  void  in  nature.  The 
demons  of  earth,  air,  fire,  and  water,  are  of  an  elastic, 
ethereal,  semi-corporeal  essence.  It  is  these  classes 
which  officiate  as  intermediate  agents  between  the  gods 
and  men.  Although  lower  in  intelligence  than  the  sixth 
order  of  the  higher  demons,  these  beings  preside  directly 
over  the  elements  and  organic  life.  They  direct  the 
growth,  the  inflorescence,  the  properties,  and  various 
changes  of  plants.  They  are  the  personified  ideas  or 
virtues  shed  from  the  heavenly  ule  into  the  inorganic 


244      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

matter;  and,  as  the  vegetable  kingdom  is  one  remove 
higher  than  the  mineral,  these  emanations  from  the 
celestial  gods  take  form  in  the  plant,  and  become  its  soul. 
It  is  that  which  Aristotle's  doctrine  terms  the  form  in 
the  three  principles  of  natural  bodies,  classified  by  him 
as  privation,  matter,  and  form.  His  philosophy  teaches 
that  besides  the  original  matter,  another  principle  is 
necessary  to  complete  the  triune  nature  of  every  par- 
ticle, and  this  is  form;  an  invisible,  but  still,  in  an 
ontological  sense  of  the  word,  a  substantial  being,  really 
distinct  from  matter  proper.  Thus,  in  an  animal  or  a 
plant,  besides  the  bones,  the  flesh,  the  nerves,  the  brains, 
and  the  blood  in  the  former;  and  besides  the  pulpy 
matter,  tissues,  fibers,  and  juice  in  the  latter,  which 
blood  and  juice  by  circulating  through  the  veins  and 
fibers  nourish  all  parts  of  both  animal  and  plant; 
and  besides  the  animal  spirits  which  are  the  principles 
of  motion,  and  the  chemical  energy  which  is  transformed 
into  vital  force  in  the  green  leaf,  there  must  be  a  sub- 
stantial form,  which  Aristotle  called  in  the  horse,  the 
horse's  soul;  and  Proclus,  the  demon  of  every  mineral, 
plant,  or  animal,  and  the  medieval  philosophers,  the 
elementary  spirits  of  the  four  kingdoms." — (P.  312, 
vol.  I.) 

"  According  to  the  ancient  doctrines,  the  soulless  ele- 
mental spirits  were  evolved  by  the  ceaseless  motion  in- 
herent in  the  astral  light.  Light  is  force,  and  the  latter 
is  produced  by  will.  As  this  will  proceeds  from  an 
intelligence  which  cannot  err,  for  it  has  nothing  of  the 
material  organs  of  human  thought  in  it,  being  the  super- 
fine pure  emanation  of  the  highest  divinity  itself — 
(Plato's  Father) — it  proceeds  from  the  beginning  of 


NATURE-SPIRITS  OR  ELEMENTALS    245 

time,  according  to  immutable  laws,  to  evolve  the  ele- 
mentary fabric  requisite  for  subsequent  generations  of 
what  we  term  human  races.  All  of  the  latter,  whether 
belonging  to  this  planet  or  to  some  other  of  the  myriads 
in  space,  have  their  earthly  bodies  evolved  in  the  matrix 
out  of  the  bodies  of  a  certain  class  of  these  elemental 
beings  which  have  passed  away  in  the  invisible  worlds." 
(P.  285,  vol.  I.) 

Speaking  of  Pythagoras,  lamblichus,  and  other 
Greek  philosophers,  Isis  says: 

"The  universal  ether  was  not,  in  their  eyes,  simply  a/ 
something  stretching,  tenantless,  throughout  the  ex- 
panse of  heaven ;  it  was  a  boundless  ocean  peopled,  like 
our  familiar  seas,  with  monstrous  and  minor  creatures, 
and  having  in  its  every  molecule  the  germs  of  life.  Like 
the  finny  tribes  which  swarm  in  our  oceans  and  smaller 
bodies  of  water,  each  kind  having  its  'habitat'  in  some 
spot  to  which  it  is  curiously  adapted ;  some  friendly  and 
some  inimical  to  man ;  some  pleasant  and  some  frightful 
to  behold;  some  seeking  the  refuge  of  quiet  nooks  and 
land-locked  harbors,  and  some  traversing  great  areas  of 
water,  the  various  races  of  the  elemental  spirits  were 
believed  by  them  to  inhabit  the  different  portions  of 
the  great  ethereal  ocean,  and  to  be  exactly  adapted  to 
their  respective  conditions."  (P.  284,  vol.  I.) 

"Lowest  in  the  scale  of  being  are  those  invisible 
creatures  called  by  the  Kabalists  the  elementary.  There 
are  three  distinct  classes  of  these.  The  highest,  in  intel- 
ligence and  cunning,  are  the  so-called  terrestrial  spirits, 
the  larvce,  or  shadows  of  those  who  have  lived  on  earth, 
have  refused  all  spiritual  light,  remained  and  died 
deeply  immersed  in  the  mire  of  matter,  and  from  whose 


246       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

sinful  souls  the  immortal  spirit  has  gradually  separated. 
The  second  class  is  composed  of  invisible  antitypes  of 
men  to  be  born.  No  form  can  come  into  objective 
existence,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  before  the 
abstract  idea  of  this  form,  or  as  Aristotle  would  call  it, 
the  privation  of  this  form  is  called  forth.  .  .  .  These 
models,  as  yet  devoid  of  immortal  spirits,  are  elementals 
properly  speaking,  psychic  embryos — which  when  their 
time  arrives,  die  out  of  the  invisible  world,  and  are 
borne  into  this  visible  one  as  human  infants,  receiving 
in  transitu  that  divine  breath  called  spirit  which  com- 
pletes the  perfect  man.  This  class  cannot  communicate 
objectively  with  man. 

"The  third  class  of  elementals  proper  never  evolve 
into  human  beings,  but  occupy,  as  it  were,  a  specific 
step  of  the  ladder  of  being,  and,  by  comparison  with  the 
others,  may  properly  be  called  nature-spirits,  or  cosmic 
agents  of  nature,  each  being  confined  to  its  own  element, 
and  never  transgressing  the  bounds  of  others.  These  are 
what  Tertullian  called  'the  princes  of  the  powers  of 
the  air.' 

* '  This  class  is  believed  to  possess  but  one  of  the  three 
attributes  of  man.  They  have  neither  immortal  souls 
nor  tangible  bodies ;  only  astral  forms,  which  partake,  in 
a  distinguishing  degree,  of  the  element  to  which  they 
belong,  and  also  of  the  ether.  They  are  a  combination 
of  sublimated  matter  and  a  rudimental  mind.  Some  are 
changeless,  but  still  have  no  separate  individuality,  act- 
ing collectively  so  to  say.  Others,  of  certain  elements 
and  species,  change  form  under  a  fixed  law  which  Ka- 
balists  explain.  The  most  solid  of  their  bodies  is  ordi- 
narily just  immaterial  enough  to  escape  perception  by 


NATURE-SPIRITS  OR  ELEMENTALS    247 

our  physical  eyesight,  but  not  so  unsubstantial  but  that 
they  can  be  perfectly  recognized  by  the  inner  or  clair- 
voyant vision.  They  not  only  exist,  and  can  all  live  in 
ether,  but  can  handle  and  direct  it  for  the  production 
of  physical  effects,  as  readily  as  we  can  compress  air 
or  water  for  the  same  purpose  by  pneumatic  or  hy- 
draulic apparatus ;  in  which  occupation  they  are  readily 
helped  by  the  'human  elementary.'  More  than  this; 
they  can  so  condense  it  as  to  make  to  themselves  tangible 
bodies,  which  by  their  protean  powers  they  can  cause 
to  assume  such  likenesses  as  they  choose,  by  taking  as 
their  models  the  portraits  they  find  stamped  in  the 
memory  of  the  persons  present.  It  is  not  necessary  that 
the  sitter  should  be  thinking  at  the  moment  of  the  one 
represented.  His  image  may  have  faded  away  years 
before.  The  mind  receives  indelible  impression  even 
from  chance  acquaintance,  or  persons  encountered  but 
once."  (Pp.  310,  311,  vol.  I.) 

"If  spiritualists  are  anxious  to  keep  strictly  dogmatic 
in  their  notions  of  the  spirit-world,  they  must  not  set 
scientists  to  investigate  their  phenomena  in  the  true 
experimental  spirit.  The  attempt  would  most  surely 
result  in  a  partial  re-discovery  of  the  magic  of  old — 
that  of  Moses  and  Paracelsus.  Under  the  deceptive 
beauty  of  some  of  their  apparitions,  they  might  find 
some  day  the  sylphs  and  fair  undines  of  the  Rosicrucians 
playing  in  the  currents  of  psychic  and  odic  force. 

11  Already  Mr.  Crookes,  who  fully  credits  the  being, 
feels  that  under  the  fair  skin  of  Katie,  covering  a  simu- 
lacrum of  heart  borrowed  partially  from  the  medium 
and  the  circle,  there  is  no  soul !  And  the  learned  authors 
of  the  Unseen  Universe,  abandoning  their  "  electro- 


248      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

biological"  theory,  begin  to  perceive  in  the  universal 
ether  the  possibility  that  it  is  a  photographic  album  of 
En-Soph  the  Boundless."— (P.  67,  vol.  I.) 

"We  are  far  from  believing  that  all  the  spirits  that 
communicate  at  circles  ar'e  of  the  classes  called  '  ele- 
mental '  and  '  elementary. '  :  Many,  especially  among 
those  who  control  the  medium  subjectively  to  speak, 
write,  and  otherwise  act  in  various  ways,  are  human, 
disembodied  spirits.  Whether  the  majority  of  such 
spirits  are  good  or  "bad,  largely  depends  on  the  private 
morality  of  the  medium,  much  on  the  circle  present,  and 
a  great  deal  on  the  intensity  and  object  of  their  purpose, 
.  .  .  But  in  any  case,  human  spirits  can  never  ma< 
terialize  themselves  in  proprid  persona* —  (P.  67, 
vol.  I.) 

In  Art  Magic  we  find  the  following  pertinent  re- 
marks, p.  322.  ' '  There  are  some  features  of  mediumship, 
especially  amongst  those  persons  known  as  physical  force 
mediums,  which  long  since  should  have  awakened  the 
attention  of  philosophical  spiritualists  to  the  fact  that 
there  were  influences  kindred  only  with  animal  natures 
at  work  somewhere,  and  unless  the  agency  of  certain 
classes  of  elemental  spirits  was  admitted  into  the  cate- 
gory of  occasional  control,  humanity  has  at  times  as- 
sumed darker  shades  than  we  should  be  willing  to 
assign  to  it.  Unfortunately  in  discussing  these  sub- 

*By  which  it  is  doubtless  meant  that  the  full  individuality  is 
not  present;  the  higher  principles,  the  true  spirit,  having  ascended 
to  its  appropriate  house,  from  which  there  is  no  attraction  to 
earth.  That  which  materializes  would  be  an  elemental,  or  ele- 
mentals  molding  their  fluidic  forms  in  the  likeness  of  the  de- 
parted human  being;  or,  on  the  other  hand,  considering  and  revivi- 
fying the  atomic  remnants  of  the  sidereal  encasement,  or  astral 
body,  still  left  undissipated  in  the  soul-world. 


NATURE-SPIRITS  OR  ELEMENTALS    249. 

jects,  there  are  many  barriers  to  the  attainment  of 
truth  on  this  subject.  Courtesy  and  compassion  alike 
protest  against  pointing  to  illustrations  in  our  own  time, 
whilst  prejudice  and  ignorance  intervene  to  stifle  in- 
quiry respecting  phenomena,  which  a  long  lapse  of  time 
has  left  us  free  to  investigate. " 

1  'The  judges  whose  ignorance  and  superstition  dis- 
graced the  witchcraft  trials  of  the  sixteenth  and  seven- 
teenth centuries,  found  a  solvent  for  all  occult,  or  even 
suspicious  circumstances,  in  the  control  of  *  Satan  and 
his  imps.'  The  modern  spiritualists,  with  few  excep- 
tions, are  equally  stubborn  in  attributing  everything 
that  transpires  in  spiritualistic  circles,  even  to  the  wilful 
cunningly  contrived  preparations  for  deception  on  the 
part  of  pretended  media,  to  the  influence  of  disem- 
bodied human  spirits — good,  bad,  or  indifferent;  but 
the  author's  own  experience,  confirmed  by  the  assur- 
ances of  wise-teaching  spirits,  impels  him  to  assert  that 
the  tendencies  to  exhibit  animal  proclivities,  whether 
mental,  passional,  or  phenomenal,  are  most  generally 
produced  by  elementals." 

"The  rapport  with  this  realm  of  beings  is  generally 
due  to  certain  proclivities  in  the  individual;  or,  when 
whole  communities  are  affected,  the  cause  proceeds  from 
revolutionary  movements  in  the  realms  of  astral  fluid; 
these  continually  affect  the  elementals,  who,  in  com- 
bination with  low  undeveloped  spirits  of  humanity  (ele- 
mentaries),  avail  themselves  of  magnetic  epidemics  to 
obsess  susceptible  individuals,  and  sympathetically 
affect  communities." 

In  the  introduction  to  I  sis  Unveiled,  we  find  the  fol- 
lowing definition  of  elementary  spirits: 


250      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

" Properly,  the  disembodied  souls  of  the  depraved; 
these  souls,  having  at  some  time  prior  to  death,  separated 
from  themselves  their  divine  spirits,  and  so  lost  their 
chance  of  immortality.  Eliphas  Levi  and  some  other 
Kabalists  make  little  distinction  between  elementary 
spirits,  who  have  been  men,  and  those  beings  which  peo- 
ple the  elements  and  are  the  blind  forces  of  nature. 
Once  divorced  from  their  bodies,  these  souls  (also  called 
astral  bodies)  of  purely  materialistic  persons,  are  irre- 
sistibly attracted  to  the  earth,  where  they  live  a 
temporary  and  finite  life  amid  elements  congenial  to 
their  gross  natures.  From  having  never,  during  their 
natural  lives,  cultivated  this  spirituality,  but  subordi- 
nated it  to  the  material  and  gross,  they  are  now  unfitted 
for  the  lofty  career  of  the  pure,  disembodied  being,  for 
whom  the  atmosphere  of  earth  is  stifling  and  mephitic, 
and  whose  attractions  are  all  away  from  it.  After  a 
more  or  less  prolonged  period  of  time  these  material 
souls  will  begin  to  disintegrate,  and  finally,  like  a  column 
of  mist,  be  dissolved,  atom  by  atom,  in  the  surrounding 
elements." — (Preface  xxx.,  vol.  I.) 

"  After  the  death  of  the  depraved  and  the  wicked, 
arrives  the  critical  moment.  If  during  life  the  ultimate 
and  desperate  effort  of  the  inner-self  to  reunite  itself 
with  the  faintly-glimmering  ray  of  its  divine  parent  is 
neglected;  if  this  ray  is  allowed  to  be  more  and  more 
shut  out  by  the  thickening  crust  of  matter,  the  soul, 
once  freed  from  the  body,  follows  its  earthly  attractions, 
and  is  magnetically  drawn  into  and  held  within  the 
dense  fogs  of  the  material  atmosphere.  Then  it  begins 
to  sink  lower  and  lower,  until  it  finds  itself,  when  re- 
turned to  consciousness,  in  what  the  ancients  termed 


NATUBE-SPIBITS  OR  ELEMENTALS    251 

Hades.  The  annihilation  of  such  a  soul  is  never  instan- 
taneous ;  it  may  last  centuries  perhaps ;  for  nature  never 
proceeds  by  jumps  and  starts,  and  the  astral  soul,  being 
formed  of  elements,  the  law  of  evolution  must  bide  its 
time.  Then  begins  the  fearful  law  of  compensation,  the 
Yin-Touan  of  the  Buddhists.  This  class  of  spirits  is 
called  the  terrestrial,  or  earthly  elementary,  in  contra- 
distinction to  the  other  classes."  (They  frequent 
seance  rooms,  &c.)  —  (P.  319,  vol.  I.) 

Of  the  danger  of  meddling  in  occult  matters  before 
understanding  the  elementals  and  elementaries,  I&is 
says,  in  the  case  of  a  rash  intruder : 

"The  spirit  of  harmony  and  union  will  depart  from 
the  elements,  disturbed  by  the  imprudent  hand;  and 
the  currents  of  blind  forces  will  become  immediately 
infested  by  numberless  creatures  of  matter  and  instinct 
— the  bad  demons  of  the  theurgists,  the  devils  of  theol- 
ogy; the  gnomes,  salamanders,  sylphs,  and  undines  will 
assail  the  rash  performer  under  multifarious  aerial 
forms.  Unable  to  invent  anything,  they  will  search  your 
memory  to  its  very  depths;  hence  the  nervous  exhaus- 
tion and  mental  oppression  of  certain  sensitive  natures 
at  spiritual  circles.  The  elementals  will  bring  to  light 
long-forgotten  remembrances  of  the  past ;  forms,  images, 
sweet  mementos,  and  familiar  sentences,  long  since  faded 
from  our  own  remembrance,  but  vividly  preserved  in 
the  inscrutable  depths  of  our  memory  and  on  the  astral 
tablets  of  the  imperishable  'Book  of  Life.'  "—P.  343, 
Tol.  I.) 

Paracelsus  speaks  of  Xeni  Nephidei:  "Elemental 
spirits  that  give  men  occult  powers  over  visible  matter, 


252       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

and  then  feed  on  their  brains,  often  causing  thereby  in- 
sanity. ' ' 

"Man  rules  potentially  over  all  lower  existences  than 
himself,"  says  the  author  of  Art  Magic  (p.  333), 
"but  woe  to  him,  who  by  seeking  aid,  counsel,  or  assist- 
ance, from  lower  grades  of  being,  binds  himself  to  them ; 
henceforth  he  may  rest  assured  they  will  become  his 
parasites  and  associates,  and  as  their  instincts — like 
those  of  the  animal  kingdom — are  strong  in  the  par- 
ticular direction  of  their  nature,  they  are  powerful  to 
disturb,  annoy,  prompt  to  evil,  and  avail  themselves  of 
the  contact  induced  by  man's  invitation  to  drag  him 
down  to  their  own  level.  The  legendary  idea  of  evil 
compacts  between  man  and  the  'Adversary'  is  not 
wholly  mythical.  Every  wrong-doer  signs  that  com- 
pact with  spirits  who  have  sympathy  with  his  evil 
actions. 

"Except  for  the  purposes  of  scientific  investigation, 
or  with  a  view  to  strengthening  ourselves  against  the 
silent  and  mysterious  promptings  to  evil  that  beset  us 
on  every  side,  we  warn  mere  curiosity-seekers,  or  per- 
sons ambitious  to  attach  the  legions  of  an  unknown 
world  to  their  service,  against  any  attempts  to  seek 
communion  with  elemental  spirits,  or  beings  of  any 
grade  lower  than  man.  Beings  below  mortality  ccm 
grant  nothing  that  mortality  ought  to  ask.  They  can 
only  serve  man  in  some  embryonic  department  of  na- 
ture, and  man  must  stoop  to  their  state  before  they  can 
thus  reach  him.  .  .  .  Knowledge  is  only  good  for  us 
when  we  can  apply  it  judiciously.  Those  who  investi- 
gate for  the  sake  of  science,  or  with  a  view  to  enlarging 
the  narrow  boundaries  of  man's  egotistical  opinions, 


NATUBE-SPIRITS  OE  ELEMENTALS    253 

may  venture  much  further  into  the  realms  of  the  un- 
known than  curiosity-seekers,  or  persons  who  desire  to 
apply  the  secrets  of  being  to  selfish  purposes.  It  may  be 
as  well  also  for  man  to  remember  that  he  and  his  planet 
are  not  the  all  of  being,  and  that,  besides  the  revela- 
tions included  in  the  stupendous  outpouring  called 
4  Modern  Spiritualism/  there  are  many  problems  yet 
to  be  solved  in  human  life  and  planetary  existences, 
which  spiritualism  does  not  cover,  nor  ignorance  and 
prejudice  dream  of.  ...  Besides  these  considerations, 
we  would  warn  man  of  the  many  subtle,  though  in- 
visible, enemies  which  surround  him,  and,  rather  by 
the  instinct  of  their  embryonic  natures  than  through 
malice  prepense,  seek  to  lay  siege  to  the  garrison  of 
the  human  heart.  We  would  advise  him,  moreover, 
that  into  that  sacred  entrenchment  no  power  can  enter, 
save  by  invitation  of  the  soul  itself.  Angels  may  solicit, 
or  demons  may  tempt,  but  none  can  compel  the  spirit 
within  to  action,  unless  it  first  surrenders  the  mill  to 
the  investing  power." — (Art  Magic,  p.  335.) 

From  the  Theosophist  of  July  1886,  we  make  the  fol- 
lowing extract,  bearing  upon  the  subject  of  the  loss  of 
immortality  by  soul-death,  and  the  dangers  of  Black 
Magic : 

"It  is  necessary  to  say  a  few  words  as  regards  the 
real  nature  of  soul-death,  and  the  ultimate  fate  of  a 
black  magician.  The  soul,  as  we  have  explained  above, 
is  an  isolated  drop  in  the  ocean  of  cosmic  life.  This 
current  of  cosmic  life  is  but  the  light  and  the  aura  of 
the  Logos.  Besides  the  Logos,  there  are  innumerable 
other  existences,  both  spiritual  and  astral,  partaking 
of  this  life  and  living  in  it.  These  beings  have  special 


254      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

affinities  with  particular  emotions  of  the  human  soul, 
and  particular  characteristics  of  the  human  mind.  They 
have,  of  course,  a  definite  individual  existence  of  their 
own,  which  lasts  up  to  the  end  of  the  Manwantara. 
There  are  three  ways  in  which  a  soul  may  cease  to  retain 
its  special  individuality.  Separated  from  its  Logos, 
which  is,  as  it  were,  its  source,  it  may  not  acquire  a 
strong  and  abiding  individuality  of  its  own,  and  may  in 
course  of  time  be  reabsorbed  into  the  current  of  uni- 
versal life.  This  is  real  soul-death.  It  may  also  place 
itself  en  rapport  with  a  spiritual  or  elemental  existence 
by  evoking  it,  and  concentrating  its  attention  and  re- 
gard upon  it  for  purposes  of  black  magic  and  Tantric 
worship.  In  such  a  case  it  transfers  its  individuality 
to  such  existence  and  is  sucked  up  into  it,  as  it  were. 
In  such  a  case  the  black  magician  lives  in  such  a  being, 
and  as  such  a  being  he  continues  until  the  end  of 
Manwantara. ' ' 

A  good  deal  of  highly  interesting  information  on  the 
subject  of  elementals  and  elementaries  is  to  be  found 
in  numbers  of  The  Path.  A  few  of  the  points  contained 
in  these  articles  may  be  mentioned  here,  but  the  reader  is 
strongly  recommended  to  study  these  articles,  entitled 
Conversations  on  Occultism,  for  himself.  According  to 
the  writer: 

An  elemental  is  a  center  of  force,  without  intelligence, 
as  we  understand  the  word,  without  moral  character  or 
tendencies  similar  to  ours,  but  capable  of  being  directed 
in  its  movements  by  human  thoughts,  which  may,  con- 
sciously or  not,  give  it  any  form,  and  endow  it  to  a 
certain  extent  with  what  we  call  intelligence.  We  give 


NATURE-SPIRITS  OR  ELEMENTALS    255 

them  form  by  a  species  of  thought  which  the  mind  does 
not  register — involuntary  and  unconscious  thought — 
"as,  one  person  might  shape  an  elemental  so  as  to  seem 
like  an  insect,  and  not  be  able  to  tell  whether  he  had 
thought  of  such  a  thing  or  not/'  The  elemental  world 
interpenetrates  this  one,  and  elementals  are  constantly 
being  attracted  to,  or  repelled  from,  human  beings, 
taking  the  prevailing  color  of  their  thoughts.  Time  and 
space,  as  we  understand  them,  do  not  exist  for  elemen- 
tals. They  can  be  seen  clairvoyantly  in  the  shapes  they 
assume  under  different  influences,  and  they  do  many 
of  the  phenomena  of  the  seance  room.  Light  and  the 
concentrated  attention  of  any  one  make  a  disturbance  in 
the  magnetism  of  a  room,  interfering  with  their  work 
in  that  respect.  At  seances  elementaries  also  are 
present;  these  are  shells,  or  half-dead  human  beings. 
The  elementaries  are  not  all  bad,  however,  but  the 
worst  are  the  strongest,  because  the  most  attracted  to 
material  life.  They  are  all  helped  and  galvanized  into 
action  by  elementals. 

Contact  with  these  beings  has  a  deteriorating  effect 
in  all  cases.  Clairvoyants  see  in  the  astral  light  sur- 
rounding a  person  the  images  of  people  or  events  that 
have  made  an  impression  on  that  person's  mind,  and 
they  frequently  mistake  these  echoes  and  reflections  for 
astral  realities;  only  the  trained  seer  can  distinguish. 
The  whole  astral  world  is  full  of  illusions. 

Elementals  have  not  got  'being  such  as  mortals  have. 
There  are  different  classes  for  the  different  planes  of 
nature.  Each  class  is  confined  to  its  own  plane,  and 
many  can  never  be  recognized  by  men.  The  elemental 
world  is  a  strong  factor  in  Karma.  Formerly,  when  men 


256      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

were  less  selfish  and  more  spiritual,  the  elementals  were 
friendly.  They  have  become  unfriendly  by  reason  of 
man's  indifference  to,  and  want  of  sympathy  with  the 
rest  of  creation.  Man  has  also  colored  the  astral  world 
with  his  own  selfish  and  brutal  thoughts,  and  produced 
an  atmosphere  of  evil  which  he  himself  breathes.  When 
men  shall  cultivate  feelings  of  brotherly  affection  for 
each  other,  and  of  sympathy  with  nature,  the  elementals 
will  change  their  present  hostile  attitude  for  one  of 
helpfulness. 

Elementals  aid  in  the  performance  of  phenomena  pro- 
duced by  adepts.  They  also  enter  the  sphere  of  unpro- 
tected persons,  and  especially  of  those  who  study  occult- 
ism, thus  precipitating  the  results  of  past  Karma. 

The  adepts  are  reluctant  to  speak  of  elementals  for 
two  reasons.  Because  it  is  useless,  as  people  could  not 
understand  the  subject  in  their  present  state  of  intellec- 
tual and  spiritual  development;  and  because,  if  any 
knowledge  of  them  were  given,  some  persons  might  be 
able  to  come  into  contact  with  them  to  their  own  detri- 
ment and  that  of  the  world.  In  the  present  state  of 
universal  selfishness  and  self-seeking,  the  elementals 
would  be  employed  to  work  evil,  as  they  are  in  them- 
selves colorless,  taking  their  character  from  those  who 
employ  them.  The  adepts,  therefore,  keep  back  or  hide 
the  knowledge  of  these  beings  from  men  of  science,  and 
from  the  world  in  general.  By-and-by,  however,  ma- 
terial science  will  rediscover  black  magic,  and  then  will 
come  a  war  between  the  good  and  evil  powers,  and  the 
evil  powers  will  be  overcome,  as  always  happens  in  such 
cases.  Eventually  all  about  the  elementals  will  be 
known  to  men — when  they  have  developed  intellectually, 


NATUBE-SPIRITS  OB  ELEMENTALS    257 

morally,  and  spiritually  sufficiently  to  have  that  knowl- 
edge without  danger. 

Elementals  guard  hidden  treasures;  they  obey  the 
adepts,  however,  who  could  command  the  use  of  untold 
wealth  if  they  cared  to  draw  upon  these  hidden 
deposits. 

N.  B. — Nizida  has  quoted  from  Man:  Fragments  of  Forgotten 
History.  The  S.  P.  S.  desires  to  say  that  while  some  of  the 
statements  contained  in  that  work  are  correct,  there  is  also  in  it 
a  large  admixture  of  error.  Therefore,  the  S.  P.  S.  does  not  rec- 
ommend this  work  to  the  attention  of  students  who  have  not  yet 
learned  enough  to  be  able  to  separate  the  grain  from  the  husk. 
The  same  may  be  said  of  Art-Magic. 


A  WITCH'S  DEN 

BY  MME.  HELENA  BLAVATSKY 

OUR  kind  host  Sham  Rao  was  very  gay  during  the 
remaining  hours  of  our  visit.    He  did  his  best 
to  entertain  us,  and  would  not  hear  of  our  leav- 
ing the  neighborhood  without  having  seen  its  greatest 
celebrity,  its  most  interesting  sight.     A  jadu  wdld — 
sorceress — well  known  in  the  district,  was  just  at  this 
time  under  the  influence  of  seven  sister-goddesses,  who 
took  possession  of  her  by  turns,  and  spoke  their  oracles 
through  her  lips.    Sham  Rao  said  we  must  not  fail  to  see 
her,  be  it  only  in  the  interests  of  science. 

The  evening  closes  in,  and  we  once  more  get  ready 
for  an  excursion.  It  is  only  five  miles  to  the  cavern  of 
the  Pythia  of  Hindostan ;  the  road  runs  through  a  jungle, 
but  it  is  level  and  smooth.  Besides,  the  jungle  and  its 
ferocious  inhabitants  have  ceased  to  frighten  us.  The 
timid  elephants  we  had  in  the  "dead  city"  are  sent 
home,  and  we  are  to  mount  new  behemoths  belonging 
to  a  neighboring  Raja.  The  pair  that  stand  before  the 
verandah  like  two  dark  hillocks  are  steady  and  trust- 
worthy. Many  a  time  these  two  have  hunted  the  royal 
tiger,  and  no  wild  shrieking  or  thunderous  roaring  can 
frighten  them.  And  so,  let  us  start !  The  ruddy  flames 
of  the  torches  dazzle  our  eyes  and  increase  the  forest 

258 


A  WITCH'S  DEN  259 

gloom.  Our  surroundings  seem  so  dark,  so  mysterious. 
There  is  something  indescribably  fascinating,  almost 
solemn,  in  these  night- journeys  in  the  out-of-the-way 
corners  of  India.  Everything  is  silent  and  deserted 
around  you,  everything  is  dozing  on  the  earth  and  over- 
head. Only  the  heavy,  regular  tread  of  the  elephants 
breaks  the  stillness  of  the  night,  like  the  sound  of  fall- 
ing hammers  in  the  underground  smithy  of  Vulcan. 
From  time  to  time  uncanny  voices  and  murmurs  are 
heard  in  the  black  forest. 

1  '  The  wind  sings  its  strange  song  amongst  the  ruins, ' ? 
says  one  of  us,  "what  a  wonderful  acoustic  phe- 
nomenon ! " 

"Bhuta,  bhuta!"  whisper  the  awestruck  torch- 
bearers.  They  brandish  their  torches  and  swiftly  spin 
on  one  leg,  and  snap  their  fingers  to  chase  away  the 
aggressive  spirits. 

The  plaintive  murmur  is  lost  in  the  distance.  The 
forest  is  once  more  filled  with  the  cadences  of  its  in- 
visible nocturnal  life — the  metallic  whirr  of  the  crickets, 
the  feeble,  monotonous  croak  of  the  tree-frog,  the  rustle 
of  the  leaves.  From  time  to  time  all  this  suddenly  stops 
short  and  then  begins  again,  gradually  increasing  and 
increasing. 

Heavens!  What  teeming  life,  what  stores  of  vital 
energy  are  hidden  under  the  smallest  leaf,  the  most 
imperceptible  blades  of  grass,  in  this  tropical  forest! 
Myriads  of  stars  shine  in  the  dark  blue  of  the  sky, 
and  myriads  of  fireflies  twinkle  at  us  from  every  bush, 
moving  sparks,  like  a  pale  reflection  of  the  far-away 
stars. 


260       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

We  left  the  thick  forest  behijid  us,  and  reached  a  deep 
glen,  on  three  sides  bordered  with  the  thick  forest, 
where  even  by  day  the  shadows  are  as  dark  as  by  night. 
We  were  about  two  thousand  feet  above  the  foot  of  the 
Vindhya  ridge,  fudging  by  the  ruined  wall  of  Mandu, 
straight  above  our  heads. 

Suddenly  a  very  chilly  wind  rose  that  nearly  blew  our 
torches  out.  Caught  in  the  labyrinth  of  bushes  and 
rocks,  the  wind  angrily  shook  the  branches  of  the 
blossoming  syringas,  then,  shaking  itself  free,  it  turned 
back  along  the  glen  and  flew  down  the  valley,  howling, 
whistling  and  shrieking,  as  if  all  the  fiends  of  the  forest 
together  were  joining  in  a  funeral  song. 

1  i  Here  we  are, ' '  said  Sham  Rao,  dismounting.  ' '  Here 
is  the  village;  the  elephants  cannot  go  any  further." 

"The  village?  Surely  you  are  mistaken.  I  don't  see 
anything  but  trees." 

"It  is  too  dark  to  see  the  village.  Besides,  the  huts 
are  so  small,  and  so  hidden  by  the  bushes,  that  even  by 
daytime  you  could  hardly  find  them.  And  there  is  no 
light  in  the  houses,  for  fear  of  the  spirits." 

"And  where  is  your  witch?  Do  you  mean  we  are  to 
watch  her  performance  in  complete  darkness?" 

Sham  Rao  cast  a  furtive,  timid  look  round  him;  and 
his  voice,  when  he  answered  our  questions,  was  some- 
what tremulous. 

* 1 1  implore  you  not  to  call  her  a  witch !  She  may  hear 
you.  ...  It  is  not  far  off,  it  is  not  more  than  half  a 
mile.  Do  not  allow  this  short  distance  to  shake  your 
decision.  No  elephant,  and  not  even  a  horse,  could  make 
its  way  there.  We  must  walk.  .  .  .  But  we  shall 
find  plenty  of  light  there.  .  .  . " 


A  WITCH'S  DEN  261 

This  was  unexpected,  and  far  from  agreeable.  To 
walk  in  this  gloomy  Indian  night;  to  scramble  through 
thickets  of  cactuses ;  to  venture  in  a  dark  forest,  full  of 
wild  animals — this  was  too  much  for  Miss  X — .  She 
declared  that  she  would  go  no  further.  She  would  wait 
for  us  in  the  howdah  on  the  elephant's  back,  and 
perhaps  would  go  to  sleep. 

Narayan  was  against  this  parti  de  plaisir  from  the 
very  beginning,  and  now,  without  explaining  his  reasons, 
he  said  she  was  the  only  sensible  one  among  us. 

"You  won't  lose  anything,"  he  remarked,  "by  stay- 
ing where  you  are.  And  I  only  wish  every  one  would 
follow  your  example." 

"What  ground  have  you  for  saying  so,  I  wonder?" 
remonstrated  Sham  Rao,  and  a  slight  note  of  disappoint- 
ment rang  in  his  voice,  when  he  saw  that  the  excursion, 
proposed  and  organized  by  himself,  threatened  to  come 
to  nothing.  * l  What  harm  could  be  done  by  it  ?  I  won 't 
insist  any  more  that  the  'incarnation  of  gods'  is  a  rare 
sight,  and  that  the  Europeans  hardly  ever  have  an  op- 
portunity of  witnessing  it;  but,  besides,  the  Kangalim 
in  question  is  no  ordinary  woman.  She  leads  a  holy 
life ;  she  is  a  prophetess,  and  her  blessing  could  not  prove 
harmful  to  any  one.  I  insisted  on  this  excursion  out  of 
pure  patriotism." 

"Sahib,  if  your  patriotism  consists  in  displaying  be- 
fore foreigners  the  worst  of  our  plagues,  then  why  did 
you  not  order  all  the  lepers  of  your  district  to  assemble 
and  parade  before  the  eyes  of  our  guests?  You  are  a 
patel,  you  have  the  power  to  do  it." 

How  bitterly  Narayan 's  voice  sounded  to  our  un- 
accustomed ears.  Usually  he  was  so  even-tempered,  so 


262       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

indifferent  to  everything  belonging  to  the  exterior  world. 

Fearing  a  quarrel  between  the  Hindus,  the  colonel 
remarked,  in  a  conciliatory  tone,  that  it  was  too  late  for 
us  to  reconsider  our  expedition.  Besides,  without  being 
a  believer  in  the  "incarnation  of  gods,"  he  was  person- 
ally firmly  convinced  that  demoniacs  existed  even  in  the 
West.  He  was  eager  to  study  every  psychological 
phenomenon,  wherever  he  met  with  it,  and  whatever 
shape  it  might  assume. 

It  would  have  been  a  striking  sight  for  our  European 
and  American  friends  if  they  had  beheld  our  procession 
on  that  dark  night.  Our  way  lay  along  a  narrow  wind- 
ing path  up  the  mountain.  Not  more  than  two  people 
could  walk  together — and  we  were  thirty,  including  the 
torch-bearers.  Surely  some  reminiscence  of  night  sallies 
against  the  Confederate  Southerners  had  revived  in  the 
colonel's  breast,  judging  by  the  readiness  with  which  he 
took  upon  himself  the  leadership  of  our  small  expedi- 
tion. He  ordered  all  the  rifles  and  revolvers  to  be 
loaded,  despatched  three  torch-bearers  to  march  ahead 
of  us,  and  arranged  us  in  pairs.  Under  such  a  skilled 
chieftain  we  had  nothing  to  fear  from  tigers ;  and  so  our 
procession  started,  and  slowly  crawled  up  the  winding 
path. 

It  cannot  be  said  that  the  inquisitive  travelers,  who 
appeared  later  on,  in  the  den  of  the  prophetess  of 
Mandu,  shone  through  the  freshness  and  elegance  of 
their  costumes.  My  gown,  as  well  as  the  traveling  suits 
of  the  colonel  and  of  Mr.  Y —  were  nearly  torn  to 
pieces.  The  cactuses  gathered  from  us  whatever  tribute 
they  could,  and  the  Babu's  disheveled  hair  swarmed 
with  a  whole  colony  of  grasshoppers  and  fireflies,  which* 


A  WITCH'S  DEN  263 

probably,  were  attracted  thither  by  the  smell  of  cocoa- 
nut  oil.  The  stout  Sham  Rao  panted  like  a  steam  engine. 
Narayan  alone  was  like  his  usual  self — that  is  to  say, 
like  a  bronze  Hercules,  armed  with  a  club.  At  the  last 
abrupt  turn  of  the  path,  after  having  surmounted  the 
difficulty  of  climbing  over  huge,  scattered  stones,  we 
suddenly  found  ourselves  on  a  perfectly  smooth  place; 
our  eyes,  in  spite  of  our  many  torches,  were  dazzled 
with  light,  and  our  ears  were  struck  by  a  medley  of 
unusual  sounds. 

A  new  glen  opened  before  us,  the  entrance  of  which, 
from  the  valley,  was  well  masked  by  thick  trees.  We 
understood  how  easily  we  might  have  wandered  round 
it,  without  ever  suspecting  its  existence.  At  the  bottom 
of  the  glen  we  discovered  the  abode  of  the  celebrated 
Kangalim. 

The  den,  as  it  turned  out,  was  situated  in  the  ruin  of 
an  old  Hindu  temple  in  tolerably  good  preservation. 
In  all  probability  it  was  built  long  before  the  "Dead 
City,"  because  during  the  epoch  of  the  latter,  the 
heathen  were  not  allowed  to  have  their  own  places  of 
worship ;  and  the  temple  stood  quite  close  to  the  wall  of 
the  town,  in  fact,  right  under  it.  The  cupolas  of  the 
two  smaller  lateral  pagodas  had  fallen  long  ago,  and 
huge  bushes  grew  out  of  their  altars.  This  evening 
their  branches  were  hidden  under  a  mass  of  bright- 
colored  rags,  bits  of  ribbon,  little  pots,  and  various  other 
talismans,  because,  even  in  them,  popular  superstition 
sees  something  sacred. 

' '  And  are  not  these  poor  people  right  ?  Did  not  these 
bushes  grow  on  sacred  ground?  Is  not  their  sap  im- 
pregnated with  the  incense  of  offerings,  and  the  exhala- 


264       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOKIES 

tions  of  holy  anchorites,  .who  once  lived  and  breathed 
here!" 

The  learned  but  superstitious  Sham  Rao  would  only 
answer  our  questions  by  new  questions. 

But  the  central  temple,  built  of  red  granite,  stood 
unharmed  by  time,  and,  as  we  learned  afterwards,  a 
deep  tunnel  opened  just  behind  its  closely-shut  door. 
What  was  beyond  it  no  one  knew.  Sham  Rao  assured 
us  that  no  man  of  the  last  three  generations  had  ever 
stepped  over  the  threshold  of  this  thick  iron  door;  no 
one  had  seen  the  subterranean  passage  for  many  years. 
Kangalim  lived  there  in  perfect  isolation,  and,  accord- 
ing to  the  oldest  people  in  the  neighborhood,  she  had 
always  lived  there.  Some  people  said  she  was  three 
hundred  years  old;  others  alleged  that  a  certain  old 
man  on  his  death-bed  had  revealed  to  his  son  that  this 
old  woman  was  no  one  else  than  his  own  u*icle.  This 
fabulous  uncle  had  settled  in  the  cave  in  the  times  when 
the  "Dead  City"  still  counted  several  hundreds  of  in- 
habitants. The  hermit,  busy  paving  his  road  to  Moksha, 
had  no  intercourse  with  the  rest  of  the  world,  and 
nobody  knew  how  he  lived  and  what  he  ate.  But  a 
good  while  ago,  in  the  days  when  the  Bellati  (for- 
eigners) had  not  yet  taken  possession  of  this  mountain, 
the  old  hermit  suddenly  was  transformed  into  a  her- 
mitess.  She  continues  his  pursuits  and  speaks  with  his 
voice,  and  often  in  his  name;  but  she  receives  wor- 
shippers, which  was  not  the  practice  of  her  predecessor. 

We  had  come  too  early,  and  the  Pythia  did  not  at 
first  appear.  But  the  square  before  the  temple  was  full 
of  people,  and  a  wild  though  picturesque  scene  it  was. 
An  enormous  bonfire  blazed  in  the  center,  and  round  it 


A  WITCH'S  DEN  265 

crowded  the  naked  savages  like  so  many  black  gnomes, 
adding  whole  branches  of  trees  sacred  to  the  seven 
sister-goddesses.  Slowly  and  evenly  they  all  jumped 
from  one  leg  to  another  to  a  tune  of  a  single  monoto- 
nous musical  phrase,  which  they  repeated  in  chorus, 
accompanied  by  several  local  drums  and  tambourines. 
The  hushed  trill  of  the  latter  mingled  with  the  forest 
echoes  and  the  hysterical  moans  of  two  little  girls,  who 
lay  under  a  heap  of  leaves  by  the  fire.  The  poor  chil- 
dren were  brought  here  by  their  mothers,  in  the  hope 
that  the  goddesses  would  take  pity  upon  them  and 
banish  the  two  evil  spirits  under  whose  obsession  they 
were.  Both  mothers  were  quite  young,  and  sat  on  their 
heels  blankly  and  sadly  staring  at  the  flames.  No  one 
paid  us  the  slightest  attention  when  we  appeared,  and 
afterwards  during  all  our  stay  these  people  acted  as  if 
we  were  invisible.  Had  we  worn  a  cap  of  darkness  they 
could  not  have  behaved  more  strangely. 

"They  feel  the  approach  of  the  gods!  The  atmosphere 
is  full  of  their  sacred  emanations!"  mysteriously  ex- 
plained Sham  Rao,  contemplating  with  reverence  the 
natives,  whom  his  beloved  Haeckel  might  have  easily 
mistaken  for  his  "missing  link,"  the  brood  of  his 
Bathybius  Ifaeckelii. 

"They  are  simply  under  the  influence  of  toddy  and 
opium!"  retorted  the  irreverent  Babu. 

The  lookers-on  moved  as  in  a  dream,  as  if  they  all 
were  only  half-awakened  somnambulists,  but  the  actors 
were  simply  victims  of  St.  Vitus's  dance.  One  of  them, 
a  tall  old  man,  a  mere  skeleton  with  a  long  white  beard, 
left  the  ring  and  begun  whirling  vertiginously,  with  his 
arms  spread  like  wings,  and  loudly  grinding  his  long, 


266       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

wolf -like  teeth.  He  was  painful  and  disgusting  to  look 
at.  He  soon  fell  down,  and  was  carelessly,  almost  me- 
chanically pushed  aside  by  the  feet  of  the  others  still 
engaged  in  their  demoniac  performance. 

All  this  was  frightful  enough,  but  many  more  horrors 
were  in  store  for  us. 

Waiting  for  the  appearance  of  the  prima  donna  of  this 
forest  opera  company,  we  sat  down  on  the  trunk  of  a 
fallen  tree,  ready  to  ask  innumerable  questions  of  our 
condescending  host.  But  I  was  hardly  seated  when  a 
feeling  of  indescribable  astonishment  and  horror  made 
me  shrink  back. 

I  beheld  the  skull  of  a  monstrous  animal,  the  like  of 
which  I  could  not  find  in  my  zoological  reminiscences. 

This  head  was  much  larger  than  the  head  of  an  ele- 
phant skeleton.  And  still  it  could  not  be  anything  but 
an  elephant,  judging  by  the  skilfully  restored  trunk, 
which  wound  down  to  my  feet  like  a  gigantic  black  leech. 
But  an  elephant  has  no  horns,  whereas  this  one  had  four 
of  them!  The  front  pair  stuck  from  the  flat  forehead 
slightly  bending  forward  and  then  spreading  out;  and 
the  others  had  a  wide  base,  like  the  root  of  a  deer 's  horn, 
that  gradually  decreased  almost  up  to  the  middle,  and 
bore  long  branches  enough  to  decorate  a  dozen  ordinary 
elks.  Pieces  of  the  transparent  amber-yellow  rhinoceros 
skin  were  strained  over  the  empty  eye-holes  of  the  skull, 
and  small  lamps  burning  behind  them  only  added  to  the 
horror,  the  devilish  appearance  of  this  head. 

"What  can  this  be?"  was  our  unanimous  question. 
None  of  us  had  ever  met  anything  like  it,  and  even  the 
colonel  looked  aghast. 

1  'It  is  a  Sivatherium, "  said  Narayan.    "Is  it  possible 


A  WITCH'S  DEN  267 

you  never  came  across  these  fossils  in  European  mu- 
seums? Their  remains  are  common  enough  in  the  Hima- 
layas, though,  of  course,  in  fragments.  They  were 
called  after  Shiva." 

"If  the  collector  of  this  district  ever  hears  that  this 
antediluvian  relic  adorns  the  den  of  your — ahem! — 
witch,"  remarked  the  Babu,  "it  won't  adorn  it  many 
days  longer." 

All  around  the  skull  and  on  the  floor  of  the  portico 
there  were  heaps  of  white  flowers,  which,  though  not 
quite  antediluvian,  were  totally  unknown  to  us.  They 
were  as  large  as  a  big  rose,  and  their  white  petals  were 
covered  with  a  red  powder,  the  inevitable  concomitant 
of  every  Indian  religious  ceremony.  Further  on  there 
were  groups  of  cocoanuts,  and  large  brass  dishes  filled 
with  rice,  each  adorned  with  a  red  or  green  taper.  In 
the  center  of  the  portico  there  stood  a  queer-shaped 
censer,  surrounded  with  chandeliers.  A  little  boy, 
dressed  from  head  to  foot  in  white,  threw  into  it  hand- 
fuls  of  aromatic  powders. 

"These  people,  who  assemble  here  to  worship  Kan- 
galim,"  said  Sham  Rao,  "do  not  actually  belong  either 
to  her  sect  or  to  any  other.  They  are  devil-worshippers. 
They  do  not  believe  in  Hindu  gods;  they  live  in 
small  communities;  they  belong  to  one  of  the  many 
Indian  races  which  usually  are  called  the  hill-tribes. 
Unlike  the  Shanars  of  Southern  Travancore,  they  do  not 
use  the  blood  of  sacrificial  animals;  they  do  not  build 
separate  temples  to  their  bhutas.  But  they  are  possessed 
by  the  strange  fancy  that  the  goddess  Kali,  the  wife  of 
Shiva,  from  time  immemorial  has  had  a  grudge  against 
them,  and  sends  her  favorite  evil  spirits  to  torture 


268      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOKIES 

them.  Save  this  little  difference,  they  have  the  same 
beliefs  as  the  Shanars.  God  does  not  exist  for  them; 
and  even  Shiva  is  considered  by  them  as  an  ordinar^ 
spirit.  Their  chief  worship  is  offered  to  the  souls  of  the 
dead.  These  souls,  however  righteous  and  kind  they 
may  be  in  their  lifetime,  become  after  death  as  wicked 
as  can  be ;  they  are  happy  only  when  they  are  torturing 
living  men  and  cattle.  As  the  opportunities  of  doing  so 
are  the  only  reward  for  the  virtues  they  possessed  when 
incarnated,  a  very  wicked  man  is  punished  by  becoming 
after  his  death  a  very  soft-hearted  ghost ;  he  loathes  his 
loss  of  daring,  and  is  altogether  miserable.  The  results 
of  this  strange  logic  are  not  bad,  nevertheless.  These 
savages  and  devil-worshippers  are  the  kindest  and  the 
most  truth-loving  of  all  the  hill-tribes.  They  do  what- 
ever they  can  to  be  worthy  of  their  ultimate  reward; 
because,  don't  you  see,  they  all  long  to  become  the 
wickedest  of  devils !" 

And  put  in  good  humor  by  his  own  wittiness,  Sham 
Rao  laughed  till  his  hilarity  became  offensive,  conside 
ing  the  sacredness  of  the  place. 

"A  year  ago  some  business  matters  sent  me  to  Tin 
velli,"  continued  he.  "Staying  with  a  friend  of  mine, 
who  is  a  Shanar,  I  was  allowed  to  be  present  at  one  of 
the  ceremonies  in  the  honor  of  devils.  No  European 
has  as  yet  witnessed  this  worship,  whatever  the  mis- 
sionaries may  say ;  but  there  are  many  converts  amongst 
the  Shanars,  who  willingly  describe  them  to  the  padres. 
My  friend  is  a  wealthy  man,  which  is  probably  the 
reason  why  the  devils  are  especially  vicious  to  him. 
They  poison  his  cattle,  spoil  his  crops  and  his  coffee 
plants,  and  persecute  his  numerous  relations,  sending 


m 

: 


A  WITCH'S  DEN  269 

them  sunstrokes,  madness  and  epilepsy,  over  which  ill- 
nesses they  especially  preside.  These  wicked  demons 
have  settled  in  every  corner  of  his  spacious  landed  prop- 
erty— in  the  woods,  the  ruins,  and  even  in  his  stables. 
To  avert  all  this,  my  friend  covered  his  land  with  stucco 
pyramids,  and  prayed  humbly,  asking  the  demons  to 
draw  their  portraits  on  each  of  them,  so  that  he  may 
recognize  them  and  worship  each  of  them  separately,  as 
the  rightful  owner  of  this,  or  that,  particular  pyramid. 
And  what  do  you  think?  .  .  .  Next  morning  all  the 
pyramids  were  found  covered  with  drawings.  Each  of 
them  bore  an  incredibly  good  likeness  of  the  dead  of 
the  neighborhood.  My  friend  had  known  personally 
almost  all  of  them.  He  found  also  a  portrait  of  his  own 
late  father  amongst  the  lot." 

"Well?     And  was  he  satisfied ?" 

' '  Oh,  he  was  very  glad,  very  satisfied.  It  enabled  him 
to  choose  the  right  thing  to  gratify  the  personal  tastes 
of  each  demon,  don't  you  see?  He  was  not  vexed  at 
finding  his  father's  portrait.  His  father  was  somewhat 
irascible;  once  he  nearly  broke  both  his  son's  legs,  ad- 
ministering to  him  fatherly  punishment  with  an  iron 
bar,  so  that  he  could  not  possibly  be  very  dangerous 
after  his  death.  But  another  portrait,  found  on  the  best 
and  the  prettiest  of  the  pyramids,  amazed  my  friend  a 
good  deal,  and  put  him  in  a  blue  funk.  The  whole  dis- 
trict recognized  an  English  officer,  a  certain  Captain 
Pole,  who  in  his  lifetime  was  as  kind  a  gentleman  as 
ever  lived." 

"Indeed?  But  do  you  mean  to  say  that  this  strange 
people  worshipped  Captain  Pole  also?" 

1 '  Of  course  they  did !  Captain  Pole  was  such  a  worthy 


270      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

man,  such  an  honest  officer,  that,  after  his  death,  he 
could  not  help  being  promoted  to  the  highest  rank  of 
Shanar  devils.  The  Pe-Kovil,  demon 's-house,  sacred  to 
his  memory,  stands  side  by  side  with  the  Pe-Kovil 
Bhadrakali,  which  was  recently  conferred  on  the  wife 
of  a  certain  German  missionary,  who  also  was  a  most 
charitable  lady  and  so  is  very  dangerous  now." 

"But  what  are  their  ceremonies?  Tell  us  something 
about  their  rites." 

"Their  rites  consist  chiefly  of  dancing,  singing,  and 
killing  sacrificial  animals.  The  Shanars  have  no  castes, 
and  eat  all  kinds  of  meat.  The  crowd  assembles  about 
the  Pe-Kovil,  previously  designated  by  the  priest ;  there 
is  a  general  beating  of  drums,  and  slaughtering  of  fowls, 
sheep  and  goats.  When  Captain  Pole's  turn  came  an 
ox  was  killed,  as  a  thoughtful  attention  to  the,  peculiar 
tastes  of  his  nation.  The  priest  appeared,  covered  with 
bangles,  and  holding  a  wand  on  which  tinkled  number- 
less little  bells,  and  wearing  garlands  of  red  and  white 
flowers  round  his  neck,  and  a  black  mantle,  on  which 
were  embroidered  the  ugliest  fiends  you  can  imagine. 
Horns  were  blown  and  drums  rolled  incessantly.  And 
oh,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  there  was  also  a  kind  of  fiddle, 
the  secret  of  which  is  known  only  to  the  Shanar  priest- 
hood. Its  bow  is  ordinary  enough,  made  of  bamboo; 
but  it  is  whispered  that  the  strings  are  human  veins. 
r.  .  .  When  Captain  Pole  took  possession  of  the 
priest's  body,  the  priest  leaped  high  in  the  air,  and  then 
rushed  on  the  ox  and  killed  him.  He  drank  off  the  hot 
blood,  and  then  began  his  dance.  But  what  a  fright  he 
was  when  dancing !  You  know,  I  am  not  superstitious. 
Am  I?  , 


A  WITCH'S  DEN  271 

Sham  Rao  looked  at  us  inquiringly,  and  I,  for  one, 
was  glad  at  this  moment  that  Miss  X —  was  half  a 
mile  off,  asleep  in  the  howdah. 

1  'He  turned,  and  turned,  as  if  possessed  by  all  the 
demons  of  Naraka.  The  enraged  crowd  hooted  and 
howled  when  the  priest  begun  to  inflict  deep  wounds  all 
over  his  body  with  the  bloody  sacrificial  knife.  To  see 
him,  with  his  hair  waving  in  the  wind  and  his  mouth 
covered  with  foam ;  to  see  him  bathing  in  the  blood  of  the 
sacrificed  animal,  mixing  it  with  his  own,  was  more  than 
I  could  bear.  I  felt  as  if  hallucinated,  I  fancied  I  also 
was  spinning  round.  .  .  . " 

Sham  Rao  stopped  abruptly,  struck  dumb.  Kangalim 
stood  before  us! 

Her  appearance  was  so  unexpected  that  we  all  felt 
embarrassed.  Carried  away  by  Sham  Rao 's  description, 
we  had  noticed  neither  how  nor  whence  she  came.  Had 
she  appeared  from  beneath  the  earth  we  could  not  have 
been  more  astonished.  Narayan  stared  at  her,  opening 
wide  his  big  jet-black  eyes ;  the  Babu  clicked  his  tongue 
in  utter  confusion. 

Imagine  a  skeleton  seven  feet  high,  covered  with 
brown  leather,  with  a  dead  child's  tiny  head  stuck  on 
its  bony  shoulders;  the  eyes  set  so  deep  and  at  the 
same  time  flashing  such  fiendish  flames  all  through  your 
body  that  you  begin  to  feel  your  brain  stop  working, 
your  thoughts  become  entangled  and  your  blood  freeze 
in  your  veins. 

I  describe  my  personal  impressions,  and  no  words  of 
mine  can  do  them  justice.  My  description  is  too  weak. 
Mr.  Y —  and  the  colonel  both  grew  pale  under  her 


272       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

stare  and  Mr.  Y —  made  a  movement  as  if  about  to 
rise. 

Needless  to  say  that  such  an  impression  could  not 
last.  As  soon  as  the  witch  had  turned  her  gleaming 
eyes  to  the  kneeling  crowd,  it  vanished  as  swiftly  as  it 
had  come.  But  still  all  our  attention  was  fixed  on  this 
remarkable  creature. 

Three  hundred  years  old!  Who  can  tell?  Judging 
by  her  appearance,  we  might  as  well  conjecture  her  to 
be  a  thousand.  We  beheld  a  genuine  living  mummy,  or 
rather  a  mummy  endowed  with  motion.  She  seemed  to 
have  been  withering  since  the  creation.  Neither  time, 
nor  the  ills  of  life,  nor  the  elements  could  ever  affect  this 
living  statue  of  death.  The  all-destroying  hand  of  time 
had  touched  her  and  stopped  short.  Time  could  do  no 
more,  and  so  had  left  her.  And  with  all  this,  not  a 
single  gray  hair.  Her  long  black  locks  shone  with  a 
greenish  sheen,  and  fell  in  heavy  masses  down  to  her 
knees. 

To  my  great  shame,  I  must  confess  that  a  disgusting 
reminiscence  flashed  into  my  memory.  I  thought  about 
the  hair  and  the  nails  of  corpses  growing  in  the  graves, 
and  tried  to  examine  the  nails  of  the  old  woman. 

Meanwhile,  she  stood  motionless  as  if  suddenly  trans- 
formed into  an  ugly  idol.  In  one  hand  she  held  a  dish 
with  a  piece  of  burning  camphor,  in  the  other  a  handful 
of  rice,  and  she  never  removed  her  burni;^ueyes  from 
the  crowd.  The  pale  yellow  flame  of  a  /e  camphor 
flickered  in  the  wind,  and  lit  up  her  deathlike  head, 
almost  touching  her  chin;  but  she  paid  no  heed  to  it. 
Her  neck,  as  wrinkled  as  a  mushroom,  as  thin  as  a  stick, 
was  surrounded  by  three  rows  of  golden  medallions. 


A  WITCH'S  DEN  273 

Her  head  was  adorned  with  a  golden  snake.  Her 
grotesque,  hardly  human  body  was  covered  by  a  piece 
of  saffron-yellow  muslin. 

The  demoniac  little  girls  raised  their  heads  from  be- 
neath the  leaves,  and  set  up  a  prolonged  animal-like 
howl.  Their  example  was  followed  by  the  old  man, 
who  lay  exhausted  by  his  frantic  dance. 

The  witch  tossed  her  head  convulsively,  and  began 
her  invocations,  rising  on  tiptoe,  as  if  moved  by  some 
external  force. 

"The  goddess,  one  of  the  seven  sisters,  begins  to  take 
possession  of  her,"  whispered  Sham  Rao,  not  even 
thinking  of  wiping  away  the  big  drops  of  sweat  that 
streamed  from  his  brow.  "Look,  look  at  her!" 

This  advice  was  quite  superfluous.  "We  were  looking 
at  her,  and  at  nothing  else. 

At  first,  the  movements  of  the  witch  were  slow,  un- 
equal, somewhat  convulsive;  then,  gradually,  they  be- 
came less  angular ;  at  last,  as  if  catching  the  cadence  of 
the  drums,  leaning  all  her  long  body  forward,  and  writh- 
ing like  an  eel,  she  rushed  round  and  round  the  blazing 
bonfire.  A  dry  leaf  caught  in  a  hurricane  could  not  fly 
swifter.  Her  bare  bony  feet  trod  noiselessly  on  the  rocky 
ground.  The  long  locks  of  her  hair  flew  round  her  like 
snakes,  lashing  the  spectators,  who  knelt,  stretching 
their  trer  ^Ung  arms  towards  her,  and  writhing  as  if 
thev  ^  V6e  Whoever  was  touched  by  one  of  this 

Fury's  bA.cK  curls,  fell  down  on  the  ground,  overcome 
with  happiness,  shouting  thanks  to  the  goddess,  and 
considering  himself  blessed  forever.  It  was  not  human 
hair  that  touched  the  happy  elect,  it  was  the  goddess 
herself,  one  of  the  seven. 


274      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

Swifter  and  swifter  fly  her  decrepit  legs;  the  young, 
vigorous  hands  of  the  drummer  can  hardly  follow  her. 
But  she  does  not  think  of  catching  the  measure  of  his 
music;  she  rushes,  she  flies  forward.  Staring  with  her 
expressionless,  motionless  orbs  at  something  before  her, 
at  something  that  is  not  visible  to  our  mortal  eyes,  she 
hardly  glances  at  her  worshippers;  then  her  look  be- 
comes full  of  fire,  and  whoever  she  looks  at  feels 
burned  through  to  the  marrow  of  his  bones.  At  every 
glance  she  throws  a  few  grains  of  rice.  The  small 
handful  seems  inexhaustible,  as  if  the  wrinkled  palm 
contained  the  bottomless  bag  of  Prince  Fortunatus. 

Suddenly  she  stops  as  if  thunderstruck. 

The  mad  race  round  the  bonfire  had  lasted  twelve 
minutes,  but  we  looked  in  vain  for  a  trace  of  fatigue  on 
the  death-like  face  of  the  witch.  She  stopped  only  for 
a  moment,  just  the  necessary  time  for  the  goddess  to 
release  her.  As  soon  as  she  felt  free,  by  a  single  effort 
she  jumped  over  the  fire  and  plunged  into  the  deep 
tank  by  the  portico.  This  time  she  plunged  only  once, 
and  whilst  she  stayed  under  the  water  the  second  sister- 
goddess  entered  her  body.  The  little  boy  in  white 
produced  another  dish,  with  a  new  piece  of  burning 
camphor,  just  in  time  for  the  witch  to  take  it  up,  and 
to  rush  again  on  her  headlong  way. 

The  colonel  sat  with  his  watch  in  his  hand.  During 
the  isecond  obsession  the  witch  ran,  leaped,  and  raced 
for  exactly  fourteen  minutes.  After  this,  she  plunged 
twice  in.  the  tank,  in  honor  of  the  second  sister;  and 
with  every  new  obsession  the  number  of  her  plunges 
increased,  till  it  became  six. 

It  was  already  an  hour  and  a  half  since  the  race 


A  WITCH'S  DEN  275 

began.  All  this  time  the  witch  never  rested,  stopping 
only  for  a  few  seconds,  to  disappear  under  the  water. 

"She  is  a  fiend,  she  cannot  be  a  woman!'7  exclaimed 
the  colonel,  seeing  the  head  of  the  witch  immersed  for 
the  sixth  time  in  the  water. 

"Hang  me  if  I  know!"  grumbled  Mr.  Y — ,  ner- 
vously pulling  his  beard.  "The  only  thing  I  know  is 
that  a  grain  of  her  cursed  rice  entered  my  throat,  and 
I  can't  get  it  out!" 

"Hush,  hush!  Please,  do  be  quiet!"  implored  Sham 
Eao.  ''By  talking  you  will  spoil  the  whole  business!" 

I  glanced  at  Narayan  and  lost  myself  in  conjectures. 

His  features,  which  usually  were  so  calm  and  serene, 
were  quite  altered  at  this  moment  by  a  deep  shadow  of 
suffering.  His  lips  trembled,  and  the  pupils  of  his  eyes 
were  dilated,  as  if  by  a  dose  of  belladonna.  His  eyes 
were  lifted  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd,  as  if  in  his  dis- 
gust he  tried*  not  to  see  what  was  before  him,  and  at 
the  same  time  could  not  see  it,  engaged  in  a  deep  reverie 
which  carried  him  away  from  us  and  from  the  whole 
performance. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  him?"  was  my  thought, 
but  I  had  no  time  to  ask  him,  because  the  witch  was 
again  in  full  swing,  chasing  her  own  shadow. 

But  with  the  seventh  goddess  the  program  was 
slightly  changed.  The  running  of  the  old  woman 
changed  to  leaping.  Sometimes  bending  down  to  the 
ground,  like  a  black  panther,  she  leaped  up  to  some 
worshipper,  and  halting  before  him  touched  his  fore- 
head with  her  finger,  while  her  long,  thin  body  shook 
with  inaudible  laughter.  Then,  again,  as  if  shrinking 
back  playfully  from  her  shadow,  and  chased  by  it,  in 


276      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

some  uncanny  game,  the  witch  appeared  to  us  like  a 
horrid  caricature  of  Dinorah,  dancing  her  mad  dance. 
Suddenly  she  straightened  herself  to  her  full  height, 
darted  to  the  portico  and  crouched  before  the  smoking 
censer,  beating  her  forehead  against  the  granite  steps. 
Another  jump,  and  she  was  quite  close  to  us,  before  the 
head  of  the  monstrous  Sivatherium.  She  knelt  down 
again  and  bowed  her  head  to  the  ground  several  times, 
with  the  sound  of  an  empty  barrel  knocked  against 
something  hard. 

We  had  hardly  the  time  to  spring  to  our  feet  and 
shrink  back  when  she  appeared  on  the  top  of  the  Siva- 
therium 's  head,  standing  there  amongst  the  horns. 

Narayan  alone  did  not  stir,  and  fearlessly  looked 
straight  in  the  eyes  of  the  frightful  sorceress. 

But  what  was  this?  Who  spoke  in  those  deep  manly 
tones?  Her  lips  were  moving,  from  her  breast  were 
issuing  those  quick,  abrupt  phrases,  but  the  voice 
sounded  hollow  as  if  coming  from  beneath  the  ground. 

' '  Hush,  hush ! ' '  whispered  Sham  Kao,  his  whole  body 
trembling.  "She  is  going  to  prophesy!  .  .  ." 

"She?"  incredulously  inquired  Mr.  Y — .  "This  a 
woman 9s  voice  ?  I  don 't  believe  it  for  a  moment.  Some- 
one's  uncle  must  be  stowed  away  somewhere  about  the 
place.  Not  the  fabulous  uncle  she  inherited  from,  but 
a  real  live  one!  ..." 

Sham  Rao  winced  under  the  irony  of  this  supposition, 
and  cast  an  imploring  look  at  the  speaker. 

"Woe  to  you!  woe  to  you!"  echoed  the  voice.  "Woe 
to  you,  children  of  the  impure  Jay  a  and  Vijaya !  of  the 
mocking,  unbelieving  lingerers  round  great  Shiva's 
door!  Ye,  who  are  cursed  by  eighty  thousand  sages! 


A  WITCH'S  DEN  277 

Woe  to  you  who  believe  not  in  the  goddess  Kali,  and 
you  who  deny  us,  her  seven  divine  sisters!  Flesh-eat- 
ing, yellow-legged  vultures!  friends  of  the  oppressors 
of  our  land!  dogs  who  are  not  ashamed  to  eat  from  the 
same  trough  with  the  Bellati!"  (foreigners). 

"It  seems  to  me  that  your  prophetess  only  foretells 
the  past,"  said  Mr.  Y — ,  philosophically  putting  his 
hands  in  his  pockets.  "I  should  say  that  she  is  hinting 
at  you,  my  dear  Sham  Rao. ' ' 

"Yes!  and  at  us  also,"  murmured  the  colonel,  who 
•was  evidently  beginning  to  feel  uneasy. 

As  to  the  unlucky  Sham  Rao,  he  broke  out  in  a  cold 
sweat,  and  tried  to  assure  us  that  we  were  mistaken,  that 
we  did  not  fully  understand  her  language. 

"It  is  not  about  you,  it  is  not  about  you!  It  is  of 
me  she  speaks,  because  I  am  in  Government  service. 
Oh,  she  is  inexorable!" 

"Rakshasas!  Asuras!"  thundered  the  voice.  "How 
dare  you  appear  before  us?  how  dare  you  to  stand  on 
this  holy  ground  in  boots  made  of  a  cow's  sacred  skin? 
Be  cursed  for  etern " 

But  her  curse  was  not  destined  to  be  finished.  In  an 
instant  the  Hercules-like  Narayan  had  fallen  on  the 
Sivatherium,  and  upset  the  whole  pile,  the  skull,  the 
horns  and  the  demoniac  Pythia  included.  A  second 
more,  and  we  thought  we  saw  the  witch  flying  in  the 
air  towards  the  portico.  A  confused  vision  of  a  stout, 
shaven  Brahman,  suddenly  emerging  from  under  the 
Sivatherium  and  instantly  disappearing  in  the  hollow 
beneath  it,  flashed  before  my  dilated  eyes. 

But,  alas!  after  the  third  second  had  passed,  we  all 
came  to  the  embarrassing  conclusion  that,  judging  from 


278      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

the  loud  clang  of  the  door  of  the  cave,  the  representa- 
tive of  the  Seven  Sisters  had  ignominioiisly  fled.  The 
moment  she  had  disappeared  from  our  inquisitive  eyes 
to  her  subterranean  domain,  we  all  realized  that  the 
unearthly  hollow  voice  we  had  heard  had  nothing  super- 
natural about  it  and  belonged  to  the  Brahman  hidden 
under  the  Sivatherium — to  some  one's  live  uncle,  as  Mr. 
Y —  had  rightly  supposed. 

Oh,  Narayan,!  how  carelessly,  how  disorderly  the 
worlds  rotate  around  us.  I  begin  to  seriously  doubt 
their  reality.  From  this  moment  I  shall  earnestly  be- 
lieve that  all  things  in  the  universe  are  nothing  but 
illusion,  a  mere  Maya.  I  am  becoming  a  Vedantin. 
...  I  doubt  that  in  the  whole  universe  there  may  be 
found  anything  more  objective  than  a  Hindu  witch 
flying  up  the  spout. 

Miss  X —  woke  up,  and  asked  what  was  the  meaning 
of  all  this  noise.  The  noise  of  many  voices  and  the 
sounds  of  the  many  retreating  footsteps,  the  general 
rush  of  the  crowd,  had  frightened  her.  She  listened  to 
us  with  a  condescending  smile,  and  a  few  yawns,  and 
went  to  sleep  again. 

Next  morning,  at  daybreak,  we  very  reluctantly,  it 
must  be  owned,  bade  good-by  to  the  kind-hearted,  good- 
natured  Sham  Kao.  The  confoundingly  easy  victory  of 
Narayan  hung  heavily  on  his  mind.  His  faith  in  the 
holy  hermitess  and  the  seven  goddesses  was  a  good  deal 
shaken  by  the  shameful  capitulation  of  the  sisters,  who 
had  surrendered  at  the  first  blow  from  a  mere  mortal. 
But  during  the  dark  hours  of  the  night  he  had  had  time 


A  WITCH'S  DEN  279 

to  think  it  over,  and  to  shake  off  the  uneasy  feeling  of 
having  unwillingly  misled  and  disappointed  his  Euro- 
pean friends. 

Sham  Rao  still  looked  confused  when  he  shook  hands 
with  us  at  parting,  and  expressed  to  us  the  best  wishes 
of  his  family  and  himself. 

As  to  the  heroes  of  this  truthful  narrative,  they 
mounted  their  elephants  once  more,  and  directed  their 
heavy  steps  towards  the  high  road  and  Jubbulpore. 


REMARKABLE     PSYCHIC     EXPERIENCES     OF 
FAMOUS  PERSONS 

BY  WALTER  F.  PRINCE,  Pn.D., 
Official  Investigator  American  Society  for  Psychical  Research 

IT  does  not  necessarily  give  an  occult  incident  more 
weight  that  it  was  experienced  or  related  and 
credited  by  a  person  whose  name  is  prominent  for 
one  reason  or  another.  The  great  are  nearly  as  likely 
to  suffer  illusions,  pathological  hallucinations,  and 
aberrations  as  the  humble  remainder  of  mankind,  or, 
according  to  Lombroso  a  good  deal  more  so.  Nor  have 
famous  persons  a  monopoly  of  veracity.  Besides,  a 
rare  psychological  incident  is  not  more  or  less  a  prob- 
lem, nor  has  it  more  or  less  significance  in  the  experience 
of  honest  John  Jones  than  in  that  of  William  Shake- 
speare. 

And  yet  it  is  natural  and  quite  proper  to  look  with 
somewhat  enhanced  interest  upon  the  experiences  or  the 
testimonies  of  those  whose  names  are  in  the  cyclopedias 
and  biographical  dictionaries.  It  is  legitimate  to  set  these 
forth  and  to  call  attention  to  them.  These  persons  at 
least  we  know  something  about.  William  Moggs  of 
Waushegan,  Wisconsin,  may  be  a  very  excellent  and 
trustworthy  man  but  we  don't  know  him,  and  it  is 
tedious  to  be  told  that  somebody  else  whom  we  may 

280 


EXPEEIENCES  OF  FAMOUS  PEESONS  281 

know  as  little  knows  and  esteems  him.  How  do  we 
know  that  the  avouching  unknown  could  not  have  been 
sold  a  gold  brick  ?  But  Henry  M.  Stanley,  and  General 
Fremont,  and  W.  P.  Frith,  and  Henry  Clews  are  char- 
acters whom  we  do  know  something  about,  or  at  least 
whom  we  can  easily  look  up  for  ourselves  in  biographi- 
cal dictionaries  and  Who's  Whos.  They  are  names 
which  have  at  the  very  outset  a  reputation  which  has  im- 
pressed the  world,  which  stand  for  assured  ability, 
genius,  achievement,  forcefulness  of  one  kind  or  an- 
other. Even  though  we  have  no  particular  data  at  hand 
regarding  the  veracity  of  a  particular  member  of  the 
shining  circle,  it  is  not  easy  to  see  why  he,  having  an 
assured  reputation,  should  dim  it  by  telling  spooky  Iks. 
It  is  easier  to  conceive  of  William  Moggs,  a  quite  obscure 
man,  calling  attention  to  himself  by  the  device,  though 
as  a  rule  the  William  Moggs 's  do  nothing  of  the  kind. 
We  spontaneously  argue  within  ourselves,  in  some  in- 
choate fashion,  "That  fellow  made  his  mark  in  the 
world;  he  gained  a  big  reputation  by  his  superiority 
to  the  rank  and  file  in  some  particular  at  least ;  it  will 
be  worth  while  to  hear  what  he  has  to  say." 

We  present  herewith  a  group  of  such  testimonies 
either  given  out  to  the  world  by  prominent  persons  as 
their  own.,  experiences  or  as  the  experiences  of  persons 
whom  they  knew  and  believed,  or  else  as  told  by  friends 
of  the  prominent  persons  whose  experiences  they  were. 

It  is  not  owing  to  any  selective  process  that  the  ma- 
terial is  mostly  of  the  sort  which  favors  supernormal 
hypotheses.  We  take  what  we  can  get.  Whenever  an 
experience  is  accompanied  by  a  normal  explanation, 
such  will  be  included  only  a  little  more  willingly  than 


282       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

an  experience  which  does  not  readily  suggest  a  normal 
explanation.  But,  let  it  be  noted,  the  groups  which  we 
propose  will  be  composed  of  human  experiences,  and  not 
opinions,  except  as  the  opinions  accompany  the  ex- 
periences. And  it  cannot  be  expected  that,  after  certain 
types  of  experiences  as  related  by  certain  men  have 
been  given,  we  shall  then  proceed  to  name  other  men 
who  haven't  had  any  such  experiences.  True,  against 
Paul  du  Chaillu's  assertion  that  he  had  seen  gorillas 
was  once  urged  the  fact  that  nobody  else  had  ever  seen 
gorillas.  Nevertheless  the  sole  assertion  of  the  one  man 
who  had  seen  them  proved  to  outweigh  in  value  the  lack 
of  experience  on  the  part  of  all  other  travelers  up  to 
that  time. 


A  PREMONITION  OF  SIB  H.  M.  STANLEY 

This  incident  is  related  by  the  famous  explorer,  Sir 
Henry  M.  Stanley,  in  his  autobiography  edited  by 
Dorothy  Stanley  (Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  1909),  on  pages 
207-208. 

Stanley,  then  a  private  in  the  Confederate  Army,  was 
captured  in  the  battle  of  Shiloh  and  sent  to  Camp 
Douglas  near  Chicago.  It  was  while  here  that  the 
incident  in  question  occurred. 

"On  the  next  day  (April  16),  after  the  morning 
duties  had  been  performed,  the  rations  divided,  the 
cooks  had  departed  contented,  and  the  quarters  swept, 
I  proceeded  to  my  nest  and  reclined  alongside  of  my 
friend  Wilkes  in  a  posture  that  gave  me  a  command 
of  one  half  of  the  building.  I  made  some  remarks  to 
him  upon  the  card-playing  groups  opposite,  when  sud- 


EXPERIENCES  OF  FAMOUS  PERSONS  283 

denly,  I  felt  a  gentle  stroke  on  the  back  of  my  neck, 
and  in  an  instant  I  was  unconscious.  The  next  moment 
I  had  a  vivid  view  of  the  village  of  Tremeirchion  and 
the  grassy  slopes  of  the  hills  of  Hirradog,  and  I  seemed 
to  be  hovering  over  the  rook  woods  of  Brynbella.  I 
glided  to  the  bed-chamber  of  my  Aunt  Mary.  My  aunt 
was  in  bed,  and  seemed  sick  unto  death.  I  took  a  posi- 
tion by  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  saw  myself,  with  head 
bent  down,  listening  to  her  parting  words  which 
sounded  regretful,  as  though  conscience  smote  her  for 
not  having  been  as  kind  as  she  might  have  been,  or 
had  wished  to  be.  I  heard  the  boy  say,  'I  believe  you, 
Aunt.  It  is  neither  your  fault,  nor  mine.  You  were 
good  and  kind  to  me,  and  I  knew  you  wished  to  be 
kinder;  but  things  were  so  ordered  that  you  had  to  be 
what  you  were.  I  also  dearly  wished  to  love  you,  but 
I  was  afraid  to  speak  of  it  lest  you  would  check  me,  or 
say  something  that  would  offend  me.  I  feel  our  parting 
was  in  this  spirit.  There  is  no  need  of  regrets.  You 
have  done  your  duty  to  me,  and  you  had  children  of 
your  own  who  required  all  your  care.  What  has  hap- 
pened to  me  since,  it  was  decreed  should  happen.  Fare- 
well.' 

"I  put  forth  my  hand  and  felt  the  clasp  of  the 
long  thin  hands  of  the  sore-sick  woman.  I  heard  a 
murmur  of  farewell,  and  immediately  I  awoke. 

"It  appeared  to  me  that  I  had  but  closed  my  eyes. 
I  was  still  in  the  same  reclining  attitude,  the  groups 
opposite  me  were  still  engaged  in  their  card  games, 
Wilkes  was  in  the  same  position.  Nothing  had  changed. 

"I  asked,  'What  has  happened?' 

"  'What  could  happen?'  said  he.    'What  makes  you 


284       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

ask  ?    It  is  but  a  moment  ago  you  were  speaking  to  me. ' 
"  'Oh,  I  thought  I  had  been  asleep  a  long  time/ 
"On  the  next  day  the  17th  of  April,  1862,  my  Aunt 
Mary  died  at  Fynnon  Beuno,  in  Wales! 

"I  believe  that  the  soul  of  every  human  being  has 
its  attendant  spirit — a  nimble,  delicate  essence,  whose 
method  of  action  is  by  a  subtle  suggestion  which  it 
contrives  to  insinuate  into  the  mind,  whether  asleep 
or  awake.  We  are  too  gross  to  be  capable  of  under- 
standing the  signification  of  the  dream,  the  vision,  or 
the  sudden  presage,  or  of  divining  the  source  of  the 
premonition  or  its  import.  We  admit  that  we  are  liable 
to  receive  a  fleeting  picture  of  an  act,  or  a  figure  at  any 
moment,  but,  except  being  struck  by  certain  strange 
coincidences  which  happen  to  most  of  us,  we  seldom 
make  an  effort  to  unravel  the  mystery.  The  swift,  dart- 
ing messenger  stamps  an  image  on  the  mind,  and  dis- 
plays a  vision  to  the  sleeper;  and  if,  as  sometimes 
follows,  among  tricks  and  twists  of  the  errant  mind,  by 
reflex  acts  of  memory,  it  happens  to  be  a  true  representa- 
tion of  what  is  to  happen,  we  are  left  to  grope  hope- 
lessly as  to  the  manner  and  meaning  of  it,  for  there 
is  nothing  tangible  to  lay  hold  of. 

"  There  are  many  things  relating  to  my  existence 
which  are  inexplicable  to  me,  and  probably  it  is  best 
so;  this  death-bed  scene,  projected  on  my  mind's  screen, 
across  four  thousand  five  hundred  miles  of  space,  is  one 
of  these  mysteries. " 

The  precise  meaning  of  the  passage  wherein  Sir 
Henry  speculates  on  the  nature  and  meaning  of  such 
facts,  is  not  entirely  clear.  Does  he  by  the  word  spirit 
mean  what  is  usually  meant  by  that  term,  or  does  he 


EXPERIENCES  OF  FAMOUS  PERSONS  285 

mean  some  part  of  the  mind  functioning  upon  the  rest 
as  its  object,  like  Freud's  psychic  censor  though  with  a 
different  purpose?  And  the  affirmative  employment  of 
the  terms  "presage"  and  "premonition"  do  not  seem 
to  be  consistent  with  the  expression  "it  happens  to  be 
a  true  representation  of  what  is  to  happen."  It  seems 
plain  that  the  distinguished  explorer  did  believe  that 
the  death-bed  scene  was  "projected  on"  his  "mind's 
screen,  across  four  thousand  five  hundred  miles  of 
space. ' '  However,  what  Stanley  thought  about  the  facts 
is  of  much  less  importance  than  the  facts  themselves, 
as  reported  by  one  whose  life  was  one  long  drill  in 
observing,  appraising  and  recording  facts. 

COINCIDENT   EXPERIENCES  OF   GENERAL  FREMONT  AND 
EELATIVES 

These  are  related  on  pages  69-72  of  Recollections  of 
Elizabeth  Benton  Fremont,  Daughter  of  the  Pathfinder 
General  John  C.  Fremont  and  Jessie  Benton  Fremont 
His  Wife. 

After  describing  a  terrible  experience  of  her  father 
and  his  men  in  1853,  while  crossing  the  Wahsatch  Moun- 
tains, and  their  rescue  from  starvation  by  reaching 
Parowan,  Utah,  Miss  Benton  goes  on: 

"That  night  my  father  sat  by  his  campfire  until  late 
in  the  night,  dreaming  of  home  and  thinking  of  the 
great  happiness  of  my  mother.  Could  she  but  know  that 
he  was  safe!  Finally  he  returned  to  his  quarters  in 
the  town  only  a  few  hundred  yards  away  from  the 
camp.  The  warm  bright  room,  the  white  bed  with  all 
suggestion  of  shelter  and  relief  from  danger  made  the 


286      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

picture  of  home  rise  up  like  a  real  thing  before  him,  and 
at  half-past  eleven  at  night  he  made  an  entry  in  his 
journal,  putting  there  the  thought  that  had  possession 
of  him  and  that  my  mother  in  far  away  "Washington 
might  know  that  all  danger  was  past  and  that  he  was 
safe  and  comfortable. 

"All  this  is  a  prelude  to  a  most  uncommon  experience 
which  befell  my  mother  in  our  Washington  home  on  the 
night  in  question.  We  could  not  possibly  hear  from 
father  at  the  earliest  until  midsummer.  Though  my 
mother  went  into  society  but  little  that  year,  there  was 
no  reason  for  gloomy  forebodings.  The  younger  mem- 
bers of  the  family  kept  her  in  close  touch  with  the  social 
side  of  life,  while  her  father,  whose  confidant  she  always 
was,  kept  her  informed  as  to  the  political  events  of 
the  moment.  Her  life  was  busy  and  filled  with  her 
full  share  of  its  responsibilities.  In  midwinter,  how- 
ever, my  mother  became  possessed  with  the  conviction 
that  my  father  was  starving,  and  no  amount  of  reason- 
ing could  calm  her  fears.  The  idea  haunted  her  for 
two  weeks  or  more,  and  finally  began  to  leave  its  physi- 
cal effects  upon  her.  She  could  neither  eat  nor  sleep; 
open-air  exercise,  plenty  of  company,  the  management 
of  a  household,  all  combined,  could  not  wean  her  from 
the  belief  that  father  and  his  men  were  starving  in 
the  desert. 

"The  weight  of  fear  was  lifted  from  her  as  suddenly 
as  it  came.  Her  young  sister  Susie  and  a  party  of 
relatives  returned  from  a  wedding  at  General  Jessup's 
on  the  night  of  February  6,  1854,  and  came  to  mother 
to  spend  the  night,  in  order  not  to  awaken  the  older 
members  of  my  grandmother's  family.  The  girls  doffed 


EXPERIENCES  OF  FAMOUS  PEESONS  287 

their  party  dresses,  replaced  them  with  comfortable 
woolen  gowns,  and,  gathered  before  the  open  fire  in 
mother's  room,  were  gaily  relating  the  experiences  of 
the  evening.  The  fire  needed  replenishing  and  mother 
went  to  an  adjoining  dressing-room  to  get  more  wood. 
The  old-fashioned  fire-place  required  long  logs  which 
were  too  large  for  her  to  handle,  and  as  she  half  knelt, 
balancing  the  long  sticks  of  wood  on  her  left  arm,  she 
felt  a  hand  rest  lightly  on  her  left  shoulder,  and  she 
heard  my  father's  laughing  voice  whisper  her  name, 
*  Jessie.' 

1  'There  was  no  sound  beyond  the  quick- whispered 
name,  no  presence,  only  the  touch,  but  my  mother  knew 
as  people  know  in  dreams  that  my  father  was  there, 
gay  and  happy,  and  intending  to  startle  Susie,  who 
when  my  mother  was  married  was  only  a  child  of  eight, 
and  was  always  a  pet  playmate  of  my  father's.  Her 
shrill,  prolonged  scream  was  his  delight,  and  he  never 
lost  an  opportunity  to  startle  her. 

" Mother  came  back  to  the  girl's  room,  but  before  she 
could  speak,  Susie  gave  a  great  cry,  fell  in  a  heap 
upon  the  rug,  and  screamed  again  and  again,  until 
mother  crushed  her  balldress  over  her  head  to  keep  the 
sound  from  the  neighbors.  Her  cousin  asked  mother 
what  she  had  seen,  and  she  explained  that  she  had  seen 
nothing,  but  had 'heard  my  father  tell  her  to  keep  still 
until  he  could  scare  Susie. 

"Peace  came  to  my  mother  instantly,  and  on  re- 
tiring she  fell  into  a  refreshing  sleep  from  which  she 
did  not  waken  until  ten  the  next  morning ;  all  fear  for 
the  safety  of  father  had  vanished  from  her  mind;  with 


288       THE  EEST  PSYCHIC  STOKIES 

sleep  came  strength,  and  she  soon  was  her  happy  self 
again. 

1  'When  my  father  returned  home,  we  learned  that  it 
was  at  the  time  the  party  was  starving  that  my  mother 
had  the  premonition  of  evil  having  befallen  them,  and 
the  entry  in  his  journal  showed  that  exactly  the  moment 
he  had  written  it  in  Parowan,  my  mother  had  felt  his 
presence,  and  in  the  wireless  message  from  heart  to 
heart  knew  that  my  father  was  safe  and  free  from 
harm.  The  hour  exactly  tallied  with  the  entry  in  his 
book,  allowing  for  the  difference  in  longitude.'7 

Further  details  would  have  been  desirable,  particu- 
larly just  what  was  the  immediate  occasion  of  Susie's 
fright,  for  she  screamed  before  Mrs.  Fremont  related 
what  had  befallen  herself.  The  only  escape  from  the 
conclusion  that  Susie  had  some  separate  peculiar  ex- 
perience is  to  suppose — which  we  may  not  unreasonably 
do — that  the  elder  lady  betrayed  her  own  agitation 
before  she  spoke,  perhaps  by  dropping  the  sticks,  hurry- 
ing back,  and  looking  strangely  at  Susie.  We  would 
have  liked  a  sight  of  the  General's  journal,  also,  and  to 
have  been  permitted  to  copy  the  entry  exactly  as  it 
stands. 

Nevertheless,  though  we  leave  Susie  and  her  screams 
quite  out  of  account,  we  have  a  very  pretty  case  remain- 
ing, however  we  explain  it.  Mrs.  Fremont's  depression 
might  be  explained  by  the  very  natural  fears  of  a 
woman  whose  husband  was  engaged  in  a  possibly  dan- 
gerous expedition,  though  she  picked  out  for  her  fears 
exactly  the  period  of  the  expedition  when  there  was  an 
actual  state  of  privation  and  danger.  But  why  did 
the  fear  so  afflicting  to  her  health  and  spirits  so  sud- 


EXPERIENCES  OF  FAMOUS  PERSONS  289 

denly  leave  her,  while  it  was  still  winter  in  the  moun- 
tains? And  why  did  the  hour  and  moment  of  the 
cessation  of  these  fears  coincide  with  the  hour  and  mo- 
ment when  the  explorer  was  occupied  with  thoughts  of 
home  and  writing  his  wish  that  his  wife  might  know 
that  he  was  safe? 

Many  a  reader  will  be  disposed  to  answer  the  ques- 
tion "why?"  with  the  facile  answer  "telepathy,"  but 
that  word  is  a  key  which  does  not  turn  in  this  lock 
with  perfect  ease.  There  are  cases  where  one  person 
thinks  a  particular  thing  under  extraordinary  circum- 
stances, and  precisely  that  thought,  or  a  hallucination 
of  precisely  that  nature,  occurs  to  another  person  at  a 
distance.  But  in  this  case  General  Fremont  thinks  a 
wish  that  his  wife  knew  he  was  safe,  and  his  wife  seems 
to  feel  a  hand  upon  her  shoulder,  seems  to  hear  his 
voice  pronounce  her  name,  and  somehow  gets  the  im- 
pression that  he  proposes  to  play  a  trick  on  her  sister 
Susie.  If  exact  coincidence  between  the  thought  of  the 
supposed  "sender"  and  that  of  the  supposed  "re- 
cipient" is  a  support  to  the  theory  of  telepathy  as 
applied  to  one  case,  then  wide  discrepancy  between  the 
coincident  thoughts  of  two  persons  in  another  case 
should  be  an  argument  against  the  theory  of  telepathy 
as  applied  to  that.  There  should  be  some  limit  to  the 
handicap  which,  by  way  of  courtesy,  the  spiritistic 
hypothesis  allows  to  the  telepathic. 

If  there  are  spirits,  and  if  they  have  a  certain  access 
to  human  thoughts,  and  if  the  limitations  of  space  are 
little  felt  by  them,  then  the  spiritistic  theory  would 
have  an  easier  time  tnan  telepathy  with  the  facts  in  this 
case.  A  friendly  intermediary  might  convey  the  assur- 


290      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

ance  that  the  Pathfinder  wanted  conveyed  to  his  wife, 
and  in  doing  so  employ  such  devices  as  an  intelligent 
personal  agent  could  think  up,  and  were  within  its 
grasp.  The  touch,  the  hallucination  of  a  voice  resem- 
bling that  of  the  absent  husband,  the  sense  of  gayety, 
and  even  the  very  characteristic  trait  of  liking  to  startle 
Susie,  might  all  be  the  result  of  the  friendly  mes- 
senger's attempts  to  implant  in  Mrs.  Fremont's  mind 
a  fixed  assurance  that  somebody  Was  safe  and  happy, 
and  that  this  somebody  was  in  very  truth  her  husband. 

INCIDENTS  RELATED  BY  DEAN  HOLE 

The  Very  Rev.  Samuel  Reynolds  Hole,  Dean  of 
Rochester,  England,  was  not  only  an  effective  preacher 
and  popular  lecturer,  but  likewise  the  author  of  fas- 
cinating books,  composed  of  reminiscences  and  shrewd 
and  witty  comments  upon  men  and  affairs.  He  made 
two  lecturing  tours  in  America. 

His  The  Memories  of  Dean  Hole  contains  a  remarkable 
dream  of  his  own,  and  one  of  similar  character  told 
him  by  a  trusted  friend.  They  may  be  found  on  pages 
200-201.  After  rehearsing  the  account  of  a  dream  and 
its  tragic  sequel  told  him  many  years  before,  he  goes  on : 

"Are  these  dreams  coincidences  only,  imaginations, 
sudden  recollections  of  events  which  had  been  long  for- 
gotten? They  are  marvelous,  be  this  as  it  may.  In  a 
crisis  of  very  severe  anxiety,  I  required  information 
which  only  one  man  could  give  me,  and  he  was  in  his 
grave.  I  saw  him  distinctly  in  a  vision  of  the  night, 
and  his  answer  to  my  question  told  me  all  I  wanted 


EXPEEIENCES  OF  FAMOUS  PERSONS  291 

to  know;  and  when,  having  obtained  the  clearest  proof 
that  what  I  had  heard  was  true,  I  communicated  the 
incident  and  its  results  to  my  solicitor,  he  told  me  that 
he  himself  had  experienced  a  similar  manifestation.  A 
claim  was  repeated  after  his  father's  death  which  had 
been  resisted  in  his  lifetime  and  retracted  by  the 
claimant,  but  the  son  was  unable  to  find  the  letter  in 
which  the  retraction  was  made.  He  dreamed  that  his 
father  appeared  and  told  him  it  was  in  the  left  hand 
drawer  of  a  certain  desk.  Having  business  in  London, 
he  went  up  to  the  offices  of  his  •  father,  an  eminent 
lawyer,  but  could  not  discover  the  desk,  until  one  of  the 
clerks  suggested  that  it  might  be  among  some  old  lum- 
ber placed  in  a  room  upstairs.  There  he  found  the  desk 
and  the  letter. 

"Then,  as  regards  coincidence,  are  there  not  events 
in  our  lives  which  come  to  us  with  a  strange  mysterious 
jignificance,  a  prophetic  intimation,  sometimes  of  sor- 
row and  sometimes  of  success?  For  example,  I  lived  a 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  Rochester.  I  went  there 
for  the  first  time  to  preach  at  the  invitation  of  one  who 
was  then  unknown  to  me,  but  is  now  a  dear  friend. 
After  the  sermon  I  was  his  guest  in  the  Precincts.  Dean 
Scott  died  in  the  night,  almost  at  the  time  when  he  who 
was  to  succeed  him  arrived  at  the  house  which  adjoins 
the  Deanery.  There  was  no  expectation  of  his  imme- 
diate decease,  and  no  conjecture  as  to  a  future  appoint- 
ment, and  yet  when  I  heard  the  tolling  of  the  cathedral 
bell,  I  had  a  presentiment  that  Dr.  Scott  was  dead,  and 
that  I  should  be  Dean  of  Rochester. " 

Again,  Dean  Hole  in  his  Then  and  Now,  pp.  9-11, 
together  with  some  opinions  of  his,  sets  down  a  seeming 


292       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

premonition  and  what  he  considers  answers  to  prayer. 

"  There  is  an  immeasurable  difference  between  ghosts 
and  other  apparitions — between  that  which  witnesses 
declare  they  saw  with  their  own  eyes  when  they  were 
wide  awake — as  Hamlet  saw  the  ghost  of  his  father, 
and  Macbeth  saw  Banquo — and  that  which  presents 
itself  to  us  when  we  are  asleep,  or  in  that  condition 
between  waking  and  sleeping  which  makes  the  vision 
so  like  reality.  I  do  not  believe  in  the  former,  and 
I  am  fully  persuaded  in  my  own  mind  that  the  wonder- 
ful stories  which  we  hear  are  to  be  accounted  for  either 
as  exaggerations  or  as  the  result  of  natural  causes 
which  have  been  misstated  or  suppressed;  but  many  of 
us  have  had  experience  of  the  latter — of  those  visions 
of  the  night  which  have  seemed  so  real,  and  which  in 
some  instances  have  brought  us  information  as  to  oc- 
currences before  unknown  to  us,  but  subsequently 
proved  to  be  true. 

"George  Benfield,  a  driver  on  the  Midland  Railway 
living  at  Derby,  was  standing  on  the  footplate  oiling 
his  engine,  the  train  being  stationary,  when  he  slipped 
and  fell  on  the  space  between  the  lines.  He  heard  the 
express  coming  on,  and  had  only  just  time  to  lie  full 
length  on  the  'six-foot'  when  it  rushed  by,  and  he 
escaped  unhurt.  He  returned  to  his  home  in  the  middle 
of  the  night,  and  as  he  was  going  up  the  stairs  he  heard 
one  of  his  children,  a  girl  about  eight  years  old,  crying 
and  sobbing.  'Oh,  Father!'  she  said,  'I  thought  some- 
body came  and  told  me  that  you  were  going  to  be 
killed,  and  I  got  out  of  bed  and  prayed  that  God  would 
not  let  you  die.'  Was  it  only  a  dream,  a  coincidence?" 


EXPERIENCES  OF  FAMOUS  PERSONS  293 

Eean  Hole  is  the  first  person  whom  we  remember  to 
have  held  that  a  man's  testimony  respecting  a  given 
species  of  experience  is  more  credible  if  he  was  asleep 
at  the  time  that  he  claims  to  have  had  it,  than  if  he  was 
awake.  He  states  that  dreams  "in  some  instances  have 
brought  us  information  as  to  occurrences  before  un- 
known to  us,  but  subsequently  proved  to  be  true/*  but 
the  same  is  asserted  in  respect  to  waking  apparitional 
experiences  on  exactly  as  satisfactory  evidence,  in  many 
cases.  He  accounts  for  the  wonderful  stories  we  hear  in 
respect  to  waking  apparitions,  and  discredits  them  on 
exactly  the  same  grounds  that  others  account  for  and 
discredit  his  dreams.  The  fact  is  that,  with  Dean  Hole 
as  with  many  others,  the  personal  equation  is  operative. 
He  believes  in  coincidental  dreams  because  he  himself 
has  experienced  them  and  knows  that  he  is  not  guilty 
of  exaggerations  in  recounting  them,  nor  can  he  see  how 
natural  causes  can  explain  them;  he  never  has  had  a 
waking  apparition,  and  therefore  is  inclined  to  conjure 
up  guesses  as  to  the  inaccuracy  and  inveracity  of  those 
who  have — guesses  which  he  would  resent  if  they  were 
applied  to  himself. 

But  the  Dean's  testimony  is  one  matter,  his  opinions 
or  prejudices  another. 

INCIDENTS  REPORTED  BY  SERJEANT  BALLANTINE 

Serjeant  William  Ballantine  (1812-1887)  was  one 
of  the  foremost  lawyers  in  England,  noted  for  his  skill 
in  cross-examination.  He  was  counsel  in  the  Tichborne 
claimant  case,  one  of  the  most  celebrated  in  the  history 
of  the  English  courts,  and  in  the  equally  famed  trial 


294      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

of  the  Gaekwar  of  Baroda.  The  incidents  which  im- 
pressed him  are  to  be  found  in  Ballantine's  Some  Ex- 
periences of  a  Satirist er's  Life,  pp.  256-267. 

"I  do  not  think  it  will  be  out  of  place  whilst  upon 
this  subject  to  relate  a  story  told  of  Sir  Astley  Cooper.* 
I  am  not  certain  that  it  has  not  been  already  in  print, 
but  I  know  that  I  have  had  frequent  conversations 
about  it  with  his  nephew. 

"There  had  been  a  murder,  and  Sir  Astley  was  upon 
the  scene  when  a  man  suspected  of  it  was  apprehended. 
Sir  Astley,  being  greatly  interested,  accompanied  the 
officers  with  their  prisoner  to  the  gaol,  and  he  and  they 
and  the  accused  were  all  in  a  cell,  locked  in  together, 
when  they  noticed  a  little  dog  which  kept  biting  at  the 
skirt  of  the  prisoner's  coat.  This  led  them  to  examine 
the  garment,  and  they  found  upon  it  traces  of  blood 
which  ultimately  led  to  conviction  of  the  man.  "When 
they  looked  around  the  dog  had  disappeared,  although 
the  door  had  never  been  opened.  How  it  had  got 
there  or  how  it  got  away,  of  course  nobody  could  tell. 
"When  Bransby  Cooper  spoke  of  this  he  always  said 
that  of  course  his  uncle  had  made  a  mistake,  and  was 
convinced  of  this  himself ;  Bransby  used  to  add  that  no 
doubt  if  the  matter  had  been  investigated  it  would  have 
been  shown  that  there  was  a  mode  of  accounting  for 
it  from  natural  causes.  But  I  believe  that  neither  Sir 
Astley  nor  his  nephew  in  their  hearts  discarded  entirely 
the  supernatural.'' 

Mr.  Ballantine  added  an  incident  which  some  may 

*Sir  Astley  Paston  Cooper  was  perhaps  the  most  famous  and 
influential  surgeon  of  his  time  in  England. 


EXPERIENCES  OF  FAMOUS  PERSONS  295 

think  is  accounted  for  by  a  telepathic  impression  fol- 
lowed by  auto-suggestion  which  lowered  the  mental 
alertness  of  the  player. 

"  There  was  a  member  of  the  club,  a  very  harmless, 
inoffensive  man  of  the  name  of  Townend,  for  whom 
Lord  Lytton  [the  novelist]  entertained  a  mortal  anti- 
pathy, and  would  never  play  whilst  that  gentleman  was 
in  the  room.  He  firmly  believed  that  he  brought  him 
bad  luck.  I  was  witness  to  what  must  be  termed  an 
odd  coincidence.  One  afternoon,  when  Lord  Lytton 
was  playing  and  had  enjoyed  an  uninterrupted  run  of 
luck,  it  suddenly  turned,  upon  which  he  exclaimed,  'I 
am  sure  that  Mr.  Townend  has  come  into  the  club/ 
Some  three  minutes  after,  just  time  enough  to  ascend 
the  stairs,  in  walked  that  unlucky  personage.  Lord 
Lytton  as  soon  as  the  rubber  was  over,  left  the  table 
and  did  not  renew  the  play." 

BEN  JONSON  ?s  PREMONITION  BY  APPARITION 

This  eminent  dramatist,  contemporary  of  Shakespeare 
(1573  M637),  visited  the  Scottish  poet,  William  Drum- 
mond,  who  took  notes  of  his  conversations  which  he 
afterwards  published  in  the  form  of  a  book.  One  inci- 
dent which  Jonson  related  and  Drummond  recorded 
may  be  found  in  The  Library  of  the  World's  Best 
Literature  under  the  title,  Ben  Jonson. 

"At  that  tyme  the  pest  was  in  London ;  he  being  in  the 
country — with  old  Cambden,  he  saw  in  a  vision  his 
eldest  sone,  then  a  child  and  at  London,  appear  unto 
him  with  the  mark  of  a  bloodie  crosse  in  his  forehead, 
as  if  it  had  been  cutted  with  a  shord,  at  which  amazed 


296      THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STOEIES 

he  prayed  unto  God,  and  in  the  morning  he  came  to 
Mr.  Cambden's  chamber  to  tell  him;  who  persuaded  him 
it  was  but  ane  apprehension  of  his  fantasie,  at  which 
he  sould  not  be  disjected ;  in  the  mean  tyme  comes  then 
letters  from  his  wife  of  the  death  of  that  boy  in  plague. 
He  appeared  to  him  (he  said)  of  a  manly  shape,  and  of 
that  grouth  that  he  thinks  he  shall  be  at  the  resurrec- 
tion." 

RUBINSTEIN'S  DEATH  COMPACT  • 

A  pupil  of  Anton  Rubinstein,  the  great  pianist  and 
composer  (1829-1894),  tells  this  story.  It  may  be  found 
in  Harper's  Magazine  for  December,  1912,  under  the 
title  A  Girl's  Recollections  of  Rubinstein,  by  Lillian 
Nichia. 

"One  wild,  blustery  night  I  found  myself  at  dinner 
with  Rubinstein,  the  weather  being  terrific  even  for  St. 
Petersburg.  The  winds  were  howling  round  the  house 
and  Rubinstein,  who  liked  to  ask  questions,  inquired  of 
me  what  they  represented  to  my  mind.  I  replied,  'The 
moaning  of  lost  souls/  From  this'  a  theological  dis- 
cussion followed. 

"  *  There  may  be  a  future/  he  said. 

"  'There  is  a  future,'  I  cried,  'a  great  and  beautiful 
future.  If  I  die  first  I  shall  come  to  you  and  prove 
this/ 

"He  turned  to  me  with  great  solemnity. 

tl  'Good,  Liloscha,  that  is  a  bargain;  and  I  will  come 
to  you/ 

"Six  years  later  in  Paris  I  woke  one  night  with  a 
cry  of  agony  and  despair  ringing  in  my  ears,  such  as  I 


EXPEEIENCES  OF  FAMOUS  PEESONS  297 

hope  may  never  be  duplicated  in  my  lifetime.  Rubin- 
Stein's  face  was  close  to  mine,  a  countenance  distorted 
by  every  phase  of  fear,  despair,  agony,  remorse  and 
anger.  I  started  up,  turned  on  all  the  lights,  and  stood 
for  a  moment  shaking  in  every  limb,  till  I  put  fear 
from  me  and  decided  it  was  merely  a  dream.  I  had  for 
the  moment  completely  forgotten  our  compact.  News 
is  always  late  in  Paris,  and  it  was  in  Le  Petit  Journal, 
published  in  the  afternoon,  that  had  the  first  account  of 
his  sudden  death. 

"Four  years  later,  Teresa  Carreno,  who  had  just 
come  from  Russia  and  was  touring  America — I  had 
met  her  in  St.  Petersburg  frequently  at  Rubinstein's 
dinner-table — told  me  that  Rubinstein  died  with  a  cry 
of  agony  impossible  of  description.  I  knew  then  that 
even  in  death  Rubinstein  had  kept,  as  he  always  did,  his 
word/' 

Here  again,  we  are  at  liberty  to  accept  the  testimony 
regarding  the  remarkable  and  complex  coincidence,  and 
to  disregard  what  is  really  an  expression  of  opinion  in 
the  last  sentence.  Whether  Rubinstein  remembered  his 
compact  in  his  dying  hour,  or  the  impression  produced 
upon  his  far-away  pupil  was  automatically  produced  by 
some  obscure  telepathic  process,  the  dying  man  having 
in  his  mind  no  conscious  thought  of  his  promise,  or  some 
intervening  tertium  quid  produced  the  impression, 
could  never  be  determined  by  this  incident  alone. 

PKEVISIONARY  DREAM  BY  CHARLES  DICKENS 

This  incident  in  the  experience  of  Charles  Dickens 
(1812-1870)  is  to  be  found  in  the  standard  biography 


298       THE  BEST  PSYCHIC  STORIES 

by  Forster,  III,  pp.  484-5  (London,  1874).  On  May  30, 
1863,  Dickens  wrote: 

"Here  is  a  curious  case  at  first-hand.  On  Thursday 
night  in  last  week,  being  at  my  office  here,  I  dreamed 
that  I  saw  a  lady  in  a  red  shawl  with  her  back  toward 
me  (whom  I  supposed  to  be  E — ).  On  her  turning 
round  I  found  that  I  didn't  know  her,  and  she  said,  'I 
am  Miss  Napier/  All  the  time  I  was  dressing  next 
morning  I  thought  'What  a  preposterous  thing  to  have 
so  very  distinct  a  dream  about  nothing ! '  and  why  Miss 
Napier? — for  I  never  heard  of  any  Miss  Napier.  That 
same  Friday  night  I  read.  After  the  reading,  came 
into  my  retiring-room,  Mary  Boyle  and  her  brother, 
and  the  lady  in  the  red  shawl,  whom  they  present  as 
'Miss  Napier/  These  are  all  the  circumstances  exactly 
told." 

I  can  imagine  the  late  Professor  Royce  saying  thirty 
years  ago — for  I  much  doubt  if  he  would  have  said  it 
twenty  years  later — "In  certain  people,  tinder  certain 
exciting  circumstances,  there  occur  what  I  shall  hence- 
forth call  Pseudo-presentiments,  i.  e.,  more  or  less  in- 
stantaneous hallucinations  of  memory,  which  make  it 
seem  to  one  that  something  which  now  excites  or  aston- 
ishes him  has  been  prefigured  in  a  recent  dream,  or  in 
the  form  of  some  other  warning,  although  this  seeming 
is  wholly  unfounded,  and  although  the  supposed  proph- 
ecy really  succeeds  its  own  fulfillment." 

Apply  this  curious  theory  (which  has  probably  not 
been  urged  for  many  years)  to  the  incident  just  cited, 
and  see  how  loosely  it  fits.  What  was  there  about  three 
persons,  one  a  stranger  coming  to  Dickens  after  he  had 
finished  a  reading  from  his  own  works,  to  "excite"  or 


EXPERIENCES  OF  FAMOUS  PERSONS  299 

"  astonish "  him,  make  his  brain  whirl  and  bring  about 
a  hallucination  of  memory,  an  illusion  of  having 
dreamed  it  all  before?  It  was  the  most  commonplace 
event  to  him.  Besides,  as  in  most  such  cases,  he  had 
the  distinct  recollection  of  his  thoughts  about  the  dream 
after  waking,  thoughts  inextricably  interwoven  with  the 
acts  performed  while  dressing!  Besides,  a  pseudo- 
presentiment  should  tally  with  the  event  as  a  reflection 
does  with  the  object,  but  in  the  dream  Miss  Napier  intro- 
duced herself,  while  in  reality  she  was  introduced  by 
another. 


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;,LU 


14Jul'52GO     |    RE? 

*i««»i*.~MiB 


20Mav'60MH 
REC'D  LD 

9 


RZC'D  LD 

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REC'D  LD 


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12Aug'55si' 
fiUG  1  7 1955  LU 

20ju!'5f- 

. 
RECTO  CO 


REC'D 

JUN.9  J360 

.    v~-* 


RZC  D  LD 

JAN  ^41963 


REC'D  LD 


-100m-9,'47  (A5702sl6)476 


